It Was Just A Dream
by Hibana
Summary: My version on how the Ronin Warriors first heard about their armors, literally how it all began. Developed after reading all the different versions of how the Ronin got their armors and lots of idle musing. Ch. 1-5 Rowen, 6-10 Sage, 12-16 Cye. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

It Was Just A Dream

A Ronin Warrior Fanfiction

Set Far Before the first episode.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Ronin Warriors (though it would have been nice).

* * *

Rowen knew he was dreaming. It was the only logical explanation. This… dream… was simply a result of his subconscious mind processing the random firing of his neurons while he slept into something his mind could recognize; the figure in his dreams, a figure clothed in a long dark robe and a white full-sleeved under-robe carrying an ornate, mystical-looking staff of Oriental origins, with a bamboo hat and white, long hair, was simply a by-product of watching too many sci-fi and fantasy movies. Perhaps a combination of _Star Wars_ for the robe and an Oriental fantasy-quest or samurai movie for the guru-look. He had watched many such films over the week, bored out of his mind at his father's small house.

But yet… this dream was _unusual_. It looked like something from the very movies he thought of, where the hero stood with the ancient and wise guide in a sacred meeting place. But he was no hero and the place was covered in a thick white mist. He looked down at himself, surprised at his ability to do this in his dreams- well, it was his dream, he shouldn't be surprised, since in dreams he had control, even if this dream was different than usual- and saw that he was wearing his pajamas, the very clothes he had fallen asleep in. The oddity struck him further. If he was in a dream, then would he not have had different clothes- any clothes he had wanted? And yet, here he stood in his dream, all too close to reality- but this was a dream, and weren't dreams supposed to be an escape from reality? And yet, hadn't he read somewhere that all dreams are based in reality, so it could be that this was therefore in accordance. It was something to muse over on a rainy day.

The figure before him began to chuckle, surprising him with the sound. Rowen blinked- was he laughing at him? And why? He could only be laughing at him if he had known his thoughts, and was remarking on the musing of his mind. But how could that be?

This was just a dream, wasn't it?

"Yes, Rowen, you are dreaming, but this is … a most unique dream," spoke the figure, raising an old and wrinkled hand to lift slightly his hat so that his face could be seen, all but his eyes. His voice was soft and kind, but spoke of years of wisdom, of pain and suffering, of joy and happiness.

"How is this dream any different from any other?" Rowen asked, suspicious, and yet the figure— a monk, Rowen realized— chuckled again.

"You have already marked the differences yourself, child. I need not note them again for your inquisitive mind," he replied.

Rowen blinked again in surprise- it appeared that this monk had been reading his thoughts.

This should have surprised him more than it did, but somehow, this mysterious atmosphere alluded to this fact, and he tried to take it in stride as best he could.

"That isn't possible. As this dream is… not really possible either," he stated matter-of-factly. He paused. "What exactly is this, then?"

The monk replied patiently, "This is a meeting. It is not our first… nor shall it be the last. It is a dream, in that you are asleep and dreaming this encounter, but yet I have come into your dream with my own power in order to speak with you like this, and so… it is not exactly a dream any longer."

Rowen stated again, "This isn't possible."

"Is it?" said the monk. "Then how do you explain the fact that I am speaking with you such?"

Rowen paused, then opened his mouth to speak, but the monk chuckled, holding up his hand. "No, no, my son, I already know your explanations, you need not tell me." When he saw that Rowen did not believe him, he replied, "You believe this is merely a phenomenon created by the mind in an attempt to process the many… movies… you have witnessed over the past evenings."

"So… you can read my mind," Rowen stated; he surprised himself by his acceptance, but, then again, Rowen wasn't one to object to reasonable evidence. He would have liked it to be in repeatable scientific conditions… but one couldn't have everything. "So… so…" he said, trying to comprehend this.

"Let me ask you a question, in order to help you understand," said the monk.

"The Socratic Method," identified Rowen in an instant. He took a breath. "Okay."

"Do you believe that every event has an explanation?" asked the monk.

"Yes," was Rowen's instantaneous reply. The monk gestured for him to elaborate, and so he did. "Every action, event, or phenomenon has an explanation based on some rule or principle of physics or nature."

"What of the things that cannot be explained by these rules that you speak of?"

"These rules are only the known ones," Rowen replied; it was odd, having this philosophical discussion, but he found that he was enjoying this, whatever this was. "Theories, mostly, being tested and often disproved in a learning process, seeking the true principles and rules. New ones are discovered as time goes on that explain previously unexplainable events."

"Then, perhaps, could the existence of this," the monk gestured around him, indicating the meeting, "be evidence of a new principle or rule? Could magic- for this is what this is- be a plausible explanation for this event?"

Rowen hesitated, pausing, considering. It _was_ plausible, given the explanations he gave, and given the circumstances. "Yes," he began after a moment, "it is _possible_… but unlikely."

"But you agree that it is possible," asked the monk.

Rowen took a breath. "Yes," he said.

The monk smiled. "Then you have come a long way in a short time, my son."

The monk shifted slightly, so that the rings on his staff tinkled slightly.

"Our time here grows short. Reflect on what I have spoken to you of. I will return in one day's time."

The rings began to move again, chiming abundantly, and the sweet sound made Rowen close his eyes, sleepy somehow in his own dream…

He opened his eyes to sunlight, in his own bed. Blinking sleepily, he twisted to look at the clock. It read 10:07 A.M. He twisted back over to stare at his ceiling, covered in plastic stars which he had arranged to show the constellations currently in the night sky. He stared up at them for a long time.

When Rowen pulled the sheets over himself that evening, he finally could not deny his curiosity and eagerness to sleep. He had denied the fact that he was looking forward to determining whether his dream the night before was real… in the sense of the possible, he noted— or not.

Of course, eagerness was not the best emotion to put one to sleep, and he sighed at himself. He began one of his exercises which he had practiced and perfected over the years to help him sleep at night.

"Afghanistan. Capital: Kabul. Albania. Capital: Tirana. Algeria. Capital: Algiers. Andorra. Capital…"

On he went, saying the name of every country and capital to himself, for a long time before sleep claimed him.

He opened his eyes to the mist-place. The monk stood before him, just as the night before, and he breathed a sigh of relief- one that he had not anticipated. He didn't realize how much the reality of this meeting meant to him. How much he wanted it to be real, and perhaps even needed it on some level.

The monk smiled at him, as if he knew the boy's thoughts— and Rowen realized, he probably did— and gestured.

"You may wish to sit, for what I have to tell you next is a long tale which resides in the realm of the possible that has opened before you," he said to him.

Rowen paused, looking at the monk's face. Though he could not see the mysterious man's eyes, he felt a sense of trust towards the monk that he could not explain— it must also fall in that realm, he thought wryly.

Still gazing at the monk, evaluating and probing, he slowly sat, crossing his legs, in front of the monk.

"Very good, my son," he heard the monk say quietly. "And now… it begins…"

The rings shifted again, though the monk did not move, as images began to appear in the air in front of Rowen.

"Nearly one thousand years ago…"

The tale he told Rowen was fantastic in its un-believability; it was a myth, if an uncommon one, one he remembered having read in some old and musty tome. Yet… the monk told it as if it was real. The images he showed related to it. And, Rowen realized, he had to take it into consideration as possible…if improbable.

But the way the monk had spoken of it, told of the swordsman slaying the demon… and the swordsman's sword had had rings on it…

"You… were him, weren't you?" asked Rowen within the realm of possibility.

The monk nodded once.

"Then… you were the one who split the…armor of the demon into nine separate armors," Rowen repeated.

The monk again nodded his sagely head.

Rowen paused, then said, "This stretches the realm of possibility a great deal. I think it belongs more in the land of myths."

"But yet, don't all myths have roots in some fact or reality?" stated the monk. Rowen blinked; that had been his exact thought at the moment.

The monk went on. "Tell me, my son, have you thought about what I spoke to you of the past night?"

"Yes," Rowen replied quickly. "But why is it so important to you that I accept the fact that all of this," Rowen gestured broadly, "is possible? It won't leave the realm of possibility into fact. It can't without tangible proof—" Rowen stopped, realizing.

"Ah. It comes to this. And what proof would you need, my son, in order to believe this myth is truth? What fact would bring this out of the realm of possibility, as you say, into that of fact and reality?"

Rowen was silent, not knowing what to say.

"The story was not finished, my son," said the monk. "It is still incomplete; the final verse is unwritten. Some of it lies in the future, while others of it I have yet to tell you."

The monk paused, then continued. "The nine armors I placed around the land for nine chosen wearers to find. Some I hid within the nature itself, while others I placed in the care of noble clans who hid the armors and passed on knowledge of its whereabouts to its descendents. One I placed in the care of Toyokimi Hideyoshi, the first to take the name you bear, Hashiba, and the founder of the clan of which you are descendent from."

Rowen's breath caught in his throat- how did this monk know of his name? And how did he know of his ancestry from his father's side? He explained this by attributing it to the monk's wisdom, and attended to his next thought. "So this is why you are talking to me… but wait, are you saying that I am supposed to wear this armor?"

"Then have you accepted the fact that this armor and this legend exists?" queried the ancient man.

"No," retorted Rowen quickly, but after a moment of hesitation. How easy it was for him to believe, Rowen thought with shock and disdain at himself. He had prided himself on his scientific and logical approach. It appeared it wasn't as assured as he had thought. But then again… when had he ever been faced with such an un-scientific and illogical situation before?

The monk appeared to smile very slightly, then became serious. He tapped his staff on the mystical ground once; the sound resonated throughout this meeting place and into Rowen's own body. He felt the reverberations in his chest.

"Seek out the armor within your past to find your truth and your future," the figure commanded.

The chiming began again, to send Rowen back once again.

"Wait, I have a question! Not about that, but about something you said last night!" he said quickly, desperately wanting an answer to a question which had plagued him all day.

The monk paused, and Rowen took it as a sign to go on.

"You said that this was not our first meeting, but… I don't remember meeting you before like this, so how can that be? And how is it that you know my name, and so much about me?" he asked earnestly, needing to know.

The monk smiled very slightly, inclining his head. "I was there for you in your moments of need, when you felt the most alone."

Rowen blinked, and began to frown, confused, wondering…and memory flooded back to him… the day his parents had officially divorced, that night… a stranger had appeared in his dreams to his eight year old self, comforting him… and then, four years later, when he had left the few friends he had had to live with his father in Japan… the first night in his new lodging, because he had and still did refuse to call it home…

Rowen gasped sharply, and realized that there were tears in his eyes. He touched them, amazed by not only their presence but their realness. Their moisture and coolness… he felt it on his fingertips as if it was _real…_ as real as the comfort those dreams had given to him, so many years ago.

"You remember now," said the monk gently, and Rowen looked up at him, now recognizing him as the figure which had comforted him so long ago, when he had needed someone to talk and cry to.

Swallowing, trying to overcome the emotions in him, he asked in response, "Who are you?"

The monk pulled his hat back down slightly. "I am simply called… the Ancient One," he said, and the rings began to chime, sweeping Rowen off to sleep.

* * *

Author's Note: I researched once how the Ronin got their armors, and after reading a ton of opinions and 'fact', I compiled everything and formed my own version.This is what I came up with. It fits and fills in some holes. I hope you enjoyed it! I've got some ideas to continue it, but it might be a while. 


	2. Chapter 2

It Was Just A Dream: Chapter 2

Standard Disclaimer: I don't own the Ronin Warriors.

* * *

The bright light of the sun radiated into Rowen's room through the cracks in the blinds, and his clock read 11:34 a.m., but he lay in his bed staring up at his ceiling.

Were his plastic stars different? He mused idly as he lay there, trying to let his mind come to terms with what he had dreamed the night before. No, he hadn't rearranged them… he hadn't thought of it last night… had he changed something in his room? Was the sunlight different? Was the very air he breathed different somehow? He felt that, in light of the revelations in his dreams, that they must be, that the world must be different. He couldn't explain this strange feeling, a mixture of disbelief and excitement and that somehow everything had changed.

Did he really believe his dream? He asked himself. Did he really believe what the Ancient had said? That he, somehow, was supposed to wear this magic armor that was hidden in his own history? That an ancient man had appeared in his dreams, knowing all about him, a man who had defeated demons and split their armors up and comforted him when he was sad. Someone who defended the realm of humans from that of demons. That there was a demon realm. That there were demons. Magic.

It was ludicrous! He thought to himself, abruptly sitting straight up in his bed. There was no way… no way… He had surely just imagined all of this. He'd heard the myth before, and something about his ancestors and an armor, and his mind had just jumbled it up with the plot of a fantasy movie.

Setting his feet on the floor, he put on his slippers and opened up the window for fresh air. He took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs and clear his mind. Standing here, with a slight breeze and sunlight on his face, it was easier to think. The sun exposed the truth and the breeze blew all pretenses away.

He gazed at the buildings and trees that were around his father's apartment complex before his gaze drifted to the blue sky above. Could he believe? Did he dare to? He wasn't sure he had the courage. If he believed and it turned out to be one wild creation of his imagination…if it turned out not to be true… where would that leave him? Alone, questioning his sanity… and, he had to admit to himself, saddened. It was every child's dream that they were different somehow, special, destined for great things, and a mark of growing up that they let go to those dreams and realized that they were special and unique as individuals, and that they had a chance or potential to do great things, but probably never would. And they would definitely never slay a dragon, save a princess… or battle demons and win.

He mused sadly, leaning against the windowsill, that he'd grown up a long time ago.

True, he had read the great fantasy epics and watched the science fiction ones, but he never really believed they were possible… he was too analytical for that. He was too proud of his reasoning and logic. And why would they be true? Someone had made them up, written them down—just as someone, a long time ago, came up with myths and legends. Someone told the first version where it was passed down through history.

But would it really hurt all that much if he just gave this a chance? Asked a small part of him. Would it really be that bad to look into it? To entertain the possibility—no, the possibility of a possibility— that it was true? Just to try?

And it had seemed _so_ real…

He realized then that his decision had already been made, since the moment he woke up. That there was a larger part of him than he realized that wanted to believe—and needed to give to it a chance.

He'd try to find proof that the armor existed, however small a chance—and if he could find it, well…

It couldn't hurt to try. Besides, it wasn't like he had anything better to do. He had this week and part of the next off from school due to the break, and he had trouble making friends who weren't deceased authors, elderly men at chess clubs, or scientists at his father's work.

It couldn't hurt…

His mind made up to at least give it a try, he walked into the bathroom, now analyzing the story that the Ancient had told him again. Why did he want him to find the armors? Why specifically him? Was it because it was his ancestors on his father's side that were originally, according to the tale, given the armor? Or something else? He had mentioned chosen people… so why him?

And what was he supposed to do with such armor, anyway? He thought to himself as he brushed his teeth.

Wait… was he supposed to wear this armor? The very thought made him pause mid-brush. Him, wearing a samurai armor? The only reason he didn't laugh out loud was because the toothbrush was in his mouth. He finished brushing his teeth and rinsed out his mouth, and then couldn't stop the chuckle.

There was no way… it probably weighed over a hundred pounds, at least, Rowen mused as he thought of traditional samurai gear. True, he wasn't unfit; he believed that balance was best for both mind and body, and so he excercised a little… But samurai armor? And on that note…

Was he supposed to be battling demons? He stopped dead in his tracks. Okay, now this was getting way out of hand. But logically, if the man had told him about the armor, and wanted him to find it, he probably wanted him to use it. And one use for magic armor would be to fight demons in defense of others…

Him, battle against anything? In any other sense but academic challenge and ignorance? Now _that_ was ridiculous.

Shaking his head at his own folly, he walked into the kitchen, pulled out a bowl, and poured himself some cereal. The clanking of his spoon against the side of the bowl reminded him of the sound of sword against steel that he had heard in the dream when the Ancient told of his battle against the demon lord. It was from that demon that he took an armor and split it into nine… hey, wait a second… if the armor came from demons, then what if it was evil armor?

That thought sent his brain wildly out of control. Did the figure in his dreams want him to wear evil armor? What if it possessed its wearer? What if it turned the wearer into demons themselves? And how much _did_ Rowen know of the Ancient One other than what he had told him?

He felt doubt sink into his mind, and quickly rising was disgust with himself. How had he let himself fallen so far into speculation? He was a scientist—well, not yet, but someday he'd be an astrophysicist—and thinking about things like this was, well, rather unscientific. He was Hashiba Rowen, number 1 student in the Osaka district, and he wouldn't let his mind run away with him like that… even if he was seriously debating the existence of a magic armor.

He forced himself to reface the facts and examine his experience. Did he feel that the figure meant harm to him? The answer was an immediate no. In fact, he couldn't imagine the Ancient doing anything to harm him… he seemed so good, somehow… just like the ancient and wise guide that he had likened him to when he first saw him. He couldn't deny the feeling of trust.

Still, it didn't sit well with him to take anything merely on faith alone, and so he made a mental note to try and learn more about this Ancient One… if he could.

And the first stop on his list for research was the library of Osaka University, where his dad worked. He finished his cereal quickly, dressed, and was out the door to catch the subway.

* * *

Thanks everyone for reading! I hope you like it... this one's not very exciting or long, but in the next one things will start to pick up a bit, I guess. I've got the next part already written, but I'm sitting on it and reviewing it for a few more days, and then I'll get it out. 

Please review! Pretty please? (See, the shameless begging already begins). Oh, and thanks to:

Hellfire13 for your review. My first one ever! And a really nice one! Reading your review gave me the energy to write the next two parts. And Rowen one of my favorites too (which is probably why this began with him, though fear not, other Ronin fans! You'll see them too... sooner or later. I plan on writing this for all five of them- it's such a great excerise in style.)

And thanks to Dranza the Phoenix Harpie for the fav!

I've imposed a five-day post-or-die restriction on myself, so I'll try to keep to that. Later!


	3. Chapter 3

Rowen sighed in frustration, running his fingers through his hair. After nearly a week of research in and out of the library, Rowen was having little luck. He sat now at his desk in his room, waiting as his computer worked through the data he had collected. The librarian at the university's library had given him temporary access to its databeses, after learning who he was and that he was spending extensive amounts of time in the library to the use its extensive database for his 'research'. What was even better was that this access also allowed him into the combined databases from the other top universities… if there was any mention of this myth, he was sure to find it somewhere in the database.

He stretched out his arms, waiting for the results. The librarian had been rather helpful; he had apparently felt it was good for youths Rowen's age to be interested in his past when so many only focused on the future and forgot 'the old ways'. He had told Rowen so at length before granting him access, and while Rowen had appeared to be respectfully listening, he really had been debating which library to go to next when the gift had been offered.

His father hadn't approved of his interest. His disapproval had surprised Rowen a bit; normally his father had taken very little interest in what he was doing, as long as he wasn't causing trouble. Yet he had expressed the very opposite of the librarian's opinion.

"Why spend your time researching myths and legends?" he had asked with a tone that suggested he thought it was foolish. "The future lies in science, and the achievements mankind makes through it."

But Rowen had persisted, and now waited impatiently for his computer to analyze. He had written a computer program to search through the database for any references to his clan or armor, one that was much more efficient than the search engine the database came with.

The results finally came up, and he scrolled eagerly through the topics…

And came up with nothing.

Frustration and disappointment swept through him. _Nothing? _He thought. _Not one hint or suggestion_? He sighed to himself, feeling his hopes sink slightly. If the information was there, then his search parameters weren't finding it. He rubbed at his face. Just how should he go about refining them?

And what would he do if he didn't find anything?

He couldn't think about it now. He had to keep on working, keep trying to find it. It was too early to give up.

He heard noise coming from the hallway, and walked to his doorway. Keys jingled just outside the door and Rowen realized what it meant.

All modicum and semblance of quiet and serenity were about to be lost.

The door finally opened to reveal a petite woman carrying a large handbag on her shoulder and pulling a small rolling suitcase.

"Oh, Rowen, how are you!" she said exuberantly. "I'm surprised to find you here. Shouldn't you be at school?"

"Hello, Mother," he replied, not surprised that she had forgotten. "I'm on break at school. Remember?"

"Oh, ha ha, it must have slipped my mind. Is Genichirou around?" she said, placing her handbag on the kitchen table and leaving her luggage there too.

Rowen thought the answer was obvious. "No, he's at the university, working."

"Oh, of course, that man doesn't know how to do anything but! Well, I'm here for a couple of days, though, so maybe I'll catch glimpse of him!" she said bubbly.

She chattered on about her flight and her job at the New York Journal and about one recent article she had written and how she had come in country to interview a business leader for an article and how she was on the list for a new promotion if this article pulled through and when she realized where it was, why, she just had to come visit her Genichirou and little Rowen, and her interview wasn't until tomorrow afternoon.

Rowen stood there mutely, waiting for her to finish so that he could go back to work. She would drop in like this unexpectedly all the time, and never stay long. He only hoped she wasn't in one of her moods where she wanted to 'play' house and pretend she was a mother.

Apparently, she was in one of those moods, for she began to plan a trip to the grocery store in order to cook for them tonight—as she looked through the fridge, Rowen ducked into the pantry and grabbed some rations—a couple bags of chips—for later on that night. He would need them after his mother either burned the food through lack of attention or concocted some crazy dish that was nigh inedible.

He left her to get settled in and went back to his computer, to type in a new search that could run while he was worked on other options. Fate apparently disliked him: not only could he not find any mention of the armor but his mother had come into town.

He probably wouldn't get much done at all, he thought with a sigh.

"Rowen? What are you working on?" his mother asked, coming into his room.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, spinning his chair slightly so that he could look at her easier. "I'm researching family history and related myths," he told her—there was no point in trying to hide it; she was a reporter, after all, and would 'get to the bottom of it' if she suspected there was one.

"Hmm… that sounds interesting. What are you looking for?" she asked, taking an interest into it.

He hesitated, then, figuring she probably wouldn't remember in an hour, said, "I'm looking for a reference in any mythology to Hideyoshi or to the Hashiba clan." He turned back to the computer to finish the parameters.

"Huh… well, that is interesting… your grandfather once told your father and I about one… something about an armor…"

At her words Rowen froze, his heart skipping a beat. _Could it be…?_ "Really? I asked Father about it and he said he didn't know any."

"Well, he was right there when his father mentioned it over tea, a few years before he passed, one day… but you know him, he's always distracted by some discovery… anyway, what was it… I believe it was about a special armor that had been given to the clan and taken to Ama no Hashidate."

He whirled around in his chair, staring at his mother. She looked thoughtful, so he knew that what she said was true— his mother never forgot a fact or a good story, which was one of the reasons she was such a good journalist. And her words about his father were also true… he was likely to have forgotten any such story, especially if it did not relate to the natural sciences, specifically physics and astronomy.

"Well, I'm going out to the store. Do you need anything?"He shook his head, and his mother was gone as abruptly as she had come.

He whirled back around to face the computer, and with trembling hands typed in Ama no Hashidate into the search parameters and waited.

After several minutes a hit came up…

_… __legend__ armor __Ama__ no __Hashidate__… entry 847859. _

_Legend of samurai armor of unknown circumstances placed at __Ama__ no __Hashidate __Legend unclear of nature of armor.__ Left by clan of 17__th__ century rising._

Staring at the screen, his heart racing, he hoped his mother wouldn't be staying too long.

He needed to go to Ama no Hashidate.

Rowen sat at the dinner table later than night, idly brushing the food around the plate with his fork. His father and mother discussed some new topic in the world, laughing together like old colleagues. "Oh, do you remember that time with that one professor at your old university? And how he held onto that one theory you disproved while you were still in school!"

"Oh, yes, I remember that."

"Yes, and you had that presentation in front of everyone! I loved the look on his face…"

Rowen after several more long moments of listening to them, stood up, said "Excuse me" and walked into the kitchen. If they had heard him, they didn't show a sign, the two laughing together again.

He scraped out his uneaten food (his mother had cooked something exotic and inedible, as he had feared), put his dishes in the sink, and ran the water over them. It washed away the leftover remains, and he watched them flow into the drain, catching on the metal of the drain cover as the water flowed through.

He heard his parents laugh again but didn't say a word. He took the dishcloth from the corner, and began to wipe the plate. He cleaned it methodically, listening half-heartedly for his parents to mention his name, before picking up his fork and cleaning it as well. He turned off the water and began to dry the dishes, barely listening anymore to his their conversation. Now dried, he put them away in their respective places and went to his room.

He sat down in front of his computer with a sigh, almost of relief, and began to research the train lines to Ama no Hashidate. Pulling out his stash of chips that he had stolen earlier, he began to eat absentmindedly, pulling up the train routes and times.

Having the armor to research, and his trip to plan, was truly a relief. It dampened his loneliness by giving him something to do.

He crossed his arms behind his head. He'd go not tomorrow, but the very next day, he decided. He'd go there, and poke around, ask a few questions, and try to find it. It couldn't hurt to try. Perhaps one of the locals there knew this legend in more detail.

He only hoped that it really was there.

He sighed to himself, and turned off his computer, having figured out and memorized the trains to take to get to Ama no Hashidate. He laid on his bed, staring up at the plastic stars of his ceiling. In the dark they glowed like the real ones. He would have taken out his telescope but the lights of the city drowned out the stars, so he had to settle for plastic ones instead.

He sighed again and closed his eyes, day-dreaming about stars and space ships and trips to outer space and parents till he drifted away... And as he did, he dreamed of something blue.

* * *

All righty! There's part three... the next part is where it all happens! Yeah! I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, at least the part about dinner and after, so let me know what you guys think. I was trying to hint at his loneliness, not spell it out, so let me know if I did it or not.

I got his dad's name from some Ronin Warrior website during my research... and I read that Rowen had found out about his armor from his mom after doing research... I hadn't really liked that set up, I thought it was off, but then, to my surprise, look what I wrote! Oh well... (sigh). It seemed to work out pretty well...

And the part about outer space, I know it's obvious, but I couldn't help myself! I just had to put some foreshadowing in for those episodes in the series!

Yeah, and you don't have to tell me, I know I already broke my five-day post rule. So much for that...

Thanks everyone for reading! And be sure to check for the next part, it's gonna be good! And then chapter five... and then I start on the next Ronins tale... it's going to either be Cye or Sage, I haven't decided. But till then... later!


	4. Chapter 4

**It Was Just A Dream**

Chapter 4

(At last! I have finished it! Enjoy!)

Standard Disclaimer: I do not own Ronin Warriors

* * *

Rowen sat on a train the day after his mother had left to go back to New York City, reading a book as he waited to get to his stop. He had walked to the JR West station in Osaka and taken a train that connect to the JR Kyoto Station. From there he had taken one of the five trains daily heading to Miyazu, the city by Ama no Hashidate. The train would only take an hour and a half, and from there he would catch a bus to the park which housed the landmark, or he could always walk it if the weather was nice. 

Ama no Hashidate… bridge to heaven, he remembered, recalling his research on the site. It was rather poetic. Though he had never been there before, the pictures on the computer looked very beautiful… tall black pines that contrasted starkly with the white sand of the beaches, with crystal waters that reflected the images like a great mirror. Scenery that certainly would inspire poetry like its name. It was reputed to be one of the three most beautiful places in Japan, he'd read.

He looked out the window behind him at the landscapes whirling by, and felt his thoughts drift by too.

He wondered if this was all just a wild goose chase. If he'd really find anything at all. If he wasn't just doing this because he had nothing better to do.

If he wasn't just doing this because he wanted so very much to believe.

He sighed at the futility of his questions, and stretched out his arms before turning back to the book that he had brought. However, he found himself unable to pay attention to it, and with another sigh closed it and put it away, musing once more.

True, his mother had somehow known of the legend, and he'd found a mention of it, but still… still…

He'd believe it if he actually found the armor. He'd believe all of it. He'd have no choice to, in the face of such evidence. If…

Trees and power lines and rooftops rushed by, merging into one ribbon of wind, colorful and constantly changing. He watched it before turning away.

His father hadn't even cared that he was going. He didn't know what he had really expected— all right, fine, he had expected him not to care- but it would have been nice, if problematic. Nice if his father had responded with something other than a distracted nod. Unsure if he had even heard him, Rowen had written a note and left it on the kitchen table, where his father would find it if he wondered later.

He gazed out the window again, looking first at the scenery and then turning his gaze up to the blue sky above that stayed the same.

Eventually the train arrived at the station, and Rowen got off with the rest of the passengers, many of whom were sightseers or tourists for the park in which Ama-no-Hashidate resided in.

He decided that he wanted to quickly get to the park and find out if everything was true, so he boarded the bus, paid the fee, and sat down. He found himself experiencing a bit of déjà vu as he watched the scenery roll by again, though slower now. He felt as if everything was slowing down, as if this crazy, hectic world with its fast pulse was slowing down, preparing to hold its breath…

He arrived at the park, which the bus driver extolled for its beauty briefly for the sight-seers, and he trickled off the bus with the rest of the tourists.

However, instead of following that group as they swarmed the guide booth, he sat out on his own, putting some distance between himself and the tourists. He figured he'd just wander around on his own for now, and see what happened.

What exactly did he think was going to happen? What was he supposed to do to find this armor? He wondered as he walked through the park, his backpack on his shoulders. Would something suddenly come to him? Would he discover a clue? Maybe he'd walk through the forest and trip over a large stone, and it'd say 'Here lies armor of the Hashiba clan' or something of that sort. He chuckled to himself, and his laugh merged with the sounds of the birds in the trees above, becoming part of the landscape.

He realized that he hadn't thought it out too much, that he had been too eager to get here, sure that something would happen… but know that he was here, he had no idea of what to do. Thinking about it, he reasoned he could always ask the local guides at the park's entrance if they knew any legends… they just might, and be able to tell him the spot where, legend said, an mystical samurai armor had been buried but never found.

If so, how would he find it? He supposed something magical would happen, he'd touch the stone marker or stand on the burial spot and light would flare up all around him and an armor would appear on him.

Or so he imagined.

_I've really been reading too many fantasy novels lately,_ he thought to himself, shaking his head at his own folly. If he would admit to himself, he'd been dreaming too much lately.

But not in the way he wished. The Ancient hadn't come to his dreams since those nights over a week ago. It would have been nice for him to come again, tell him that he was or was not on the right track. Too much to hope for, he guessed.

Walking along, it seemed as if his musing had come true… strolling through the forest, tall pines and rich green hues from the foliage on the bottom, it seemed as if the world had nearly come to a stop. As if his world had slowed down completely… as if something was about to happen.

He came to the northern tip of the southern island, and made his way across a sturdy looking wood-and-rope bridge. He wondered how long it'd been there, and paused mid-way across. There was a ten foot drop below into a channel below, the waves of the sea splashing up against the earthy walls of the island.

He continued on walking, and began following a path towards the west side of the island that looked a little less used than the main one.

He felt the doubts sink into his mind. What was he doing here? Was this all just a wild goose chase? Who was he kidding? He stopped along the path through the woods, hearing the sea just beyond. He idly pushed his way through the brush to get to the shore, and found himself gazing at the Sea of Japan. The view was breathtaking, just like he had seen in the pictures—a pale white sandy beach and crystal blue waters, and just off the white beach, not ten meters out, a Tori gate, a common site around the sacred places of Japan. A soft wind came in from the sea, causing ripples in the water as if the water itself was just a giant blue cloth, stirred and ruffled by the wind.

Rowen was rather surprised to see no one around, for he would have thought this would be a popular tourist spot. He shrugged, figuring that everyone was probably out eating lunch at this time of day, and walked towards the water.

The Tori gate certainly was an impressive structure. Made of wood painted crimson that had faded with time, it had shingles on each of the posts and roof so that it looked as if it was wearing shingle hats, not dissimilar in shape to those that some monks wore. The posts were at least ten feet tall, but the highest and main section of the gate was a good twenty, twenty-five feet tall, Rowen estimated, and easily fifteen feet wide. He easily understood the symbolism of it; it was wide open, with no doors to it, an ornate structure that seemed to welcome one to the sea and sky beyond— or, he thought, if one came from the other direction, back to land.

His shoes started to slide on the soft sand, and he stopped and took them off and laid them by a little stone column with a stone lantern on top. He took of his socks and shoved them inside his shoes. His bare feet now squishing in the sand, he walked forward, still gazing at the beautiful view. The sun sat high in the sky and a few pines stood along the rim of the beach, and the water was a cool blue, lapping softly against the slope of the beach. He rested his hand against one of the old pines and thought, _why not?_ and began to roll up the legs of his pants so that he could wade out to the gate and not get his clothes wet.

Now ready, he took a step into the water and found it cool, but not cold, even a bit warm, which was to be expected, as it was March and starting to warm up a bit. He continued to walk out, wanting to stand in that gateway and see what it saw.

Finally he stood just inside the gate's rim, the water coming up to just under his rolled up pant-legs. The waves pressed as gently against him as they did the shore.

A wind began to blow in from the direction he was facing, and he sighed as he felt it blow through his hair and over his face.

He opened his eyes and raised his head to the sky above. It was indeed a beautiful view. A peaceful, soulful place.

He stood there for a while, letting the nature play around him as he let his thoughts go and come as they pleased like he had on the train.

Would he ever find the armor? Had he really just been dreaming? He asked himself for what must have been the hundred time. If it was real, if he was meant to find it, then he would, he decided to himself after a long moment. Though it was even hard to believe that at times.

Why had his father not even cared that he was going? He wondered suddenly. Wasn't a parent supposed to care and be worried if their teenage son left abruptly after saying they were going to another city for a day? Weren't they supposed to protest, or say no, or go with them, or say take a friend… weren't they supposed to even care?

He sighed to himself, feeling the familiar loneliness roll in like a inevitable wave. It wasn't like he wasn't used to it by now… his parents' business, their lack of attention… their not-seeming-to-care. It only had gotten worse after they divorced and gave up their little charade of being a family, he thought a bit bitterly. He lowered his head, and the wind seemed to die down a bit too.

Like he had thought before, the sun exposed all, and the wind blew pretenses away. Standing here in all the beauty of nature, he could not deny his facts. That he was lonely. That he didn't fit in. That he didn't belong, even in his own family… that his brain and the unusual color of his hair had set him apart from others that might have been able to ease that pain.

_"He's just a know-it-all…" _

_"I bet he really dyed his hair to make it stand out."_

_"Who does he think he is?"_

His head lowered some more, and the wind died out all together.

Then he opened his eyes and looked up to the sky once more. Just beyond there, unseen now because of the sunlight, were the brilliant stars… all unique, individual, despite their numbers.

Thinking of that, and seeing the blue expanse above him, brought him back again. True, he was lonely sometimes, but it was okay… he'd be okay. He'd meet people one day that understood him, that cared about him.

And with such a beautiful universe around him, he'd be okay until then. When there were more stars then could be counted but an assurance that each one was unique, when there could be such beauty around him, both from nature itself and mankind, when there was still so much for him to learn and experience… he'd be all right.

The wind picked up again, blowing stronger than before, and he smiled into it, closing his eyes and feeling it blow all over him, tugging at his jacket and running through his hair. He raised his hands up, to almost cup and catch that elusive wind…

And felt something smooth touch his hand.

He opened his eyes in shock to find a softly but brilliantly glowing blue orb in his cupped hands, its light pulsing to the rhythm of his heart. It was a deep but vibrant blue, practically cobalt… it perhaps even matched the color of his hair… and he had no idea how it had gotten into his hands.

_Where did this come from? _he wondered.

It pulsed a little more deeply, its color deepening and Rowen felt himself be pulled into its depths.

And suddenly Rowen _knew_. Without a doubt, with no other need for explanation.

This was the armor he had been looking for.

* * *

Yeahhh!!! He's got his armor at last! So, whaddya guys think? 

FYI, the Japanese references are mostly accurate, the city name, the trains and how to get to Ama no Hashidate from Osaka (yes, I researched it, I'm that much of a dork) and most of my facts on the site itself. I don't really know if there is a tori gate there, but in a bunch of pictures i've seen one off a beach, and it seemed perfect!!! After all, one meaning for the word tori is bird... relating to Rowen being a wind/space person. I thought it worked, at least.

Stay tuned! There'll be one more chapter for Rowen (and then some others about him in between the other Ronin's set of chapters). And then I'm starting on the next Ronin! You'll have to wait and found out which one... tee hee...

I hope you enjoyed! And now... for a shameless begging to review...

Please review!!! Pretty please? It doesn't take long, it can just be one word, please?

Okay, I'm done. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

It Was Just A Dream

Chapter 5

(last one of Rowen's official chapters, though there will be others later, not to fear!)

Standard Disclaimer: I do not own Ronin Warriors

* * *

He stared at the little round orb in his hand, not believing what he suddenly had known. How could this thing be an armor? But yet he couldn't deny that knowledge, he felt it as surely as he knew anything else, as he knew the sun was on average a distance of 149,597,890 million kilometers or 92.3 million miles from the Earth. He rolled the object around in his palm with his thumb. But this little ball? And how had it come to him? How had it appeared in his hands? Why now? 

He waded out of the water, full of questions and unable to take his eyes off of the shiny little orb. He held it up to the sunlight and saw how it reflected a brilliant blue. He didn't realize that the light from the orb fell onto him, shading him in a brilliant blue and gold…

This was the proof he had been seeking. This sphere, which had suddenly come into his open hands while he had stood in the wind, was what he had been searching for. He felt convinced of that, with a strange calming assurance. This was proof, somehow, that the Ancient's story was real— that all of it was real! It was _real_!

He felt a lifting in his chest, as if some weight had been lightened, and he found himself smiling, grinning even. It was true…

That didn't mean he didn't have questions, though. Far from it. He had a thousand new questions, and a thousand that could be asked based on the first's answers—it was a quantum shift in his perception.

He couldn't stand still, the discovery too great and filling him with too much excitement, so he walked back to his shoes, slipped them on, and started walking back to the forest. His feet soon found a path and he followed it absently, still holding the orb tightly in his hand. Again he wondered, as the path began to rise slowly, where the orb had come from, why it had come to him at that moment rather than any other, why it, why all of this had come to him.

For some strange reason, he got the notion that it had somehow chosen him. He shrugged off the thought but it stayed in the back of his mind.

Furthermore, how could this thing be an armor?

Well, it was magic, after all.

He found himself coming to the top of a hill, the path leading to a scenic view point. There were a few tall trees, and soft grass, and a gorgeous view of the sea beyond. He sat down in the grass, feeling it give underneath him, and examined his proof more closely.

Rowen was convinced that the orb was magic. There was no other explanation. He could think of nothing but completely implausible and unlikely explanations, ones that fit in the natural realm without the prescense of magic—for example, perhaps a bird had dropped it to his location at the exact spot and time- but what bird could carry it? And where could it come from?— Indeed, the most logical explanation for it was the impossible—magic.

Not only that, but the orb was a perfect sphere. He ran his fingers over it and found it no imperfections. Rowen had no doubt that if he were to take it to a computer and scan it, analyze it, he would find that it was perfectly spherical—and what were the odds of finding something so perfect in nature? He knew the odds were very high. And in this color? And shining, pulsing in his hand? The odds bordered the impossible, if not already there.

The ball fit into his closed palm easily, comfortable, and warmed his skin slightly, comfortingly.

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. This round little orb, so small and seemingly insignificant, had changed so much.

He watched the clouds blow by in the blue, blue sky, and felt at peace, calm, the wondering-if-it-was-all-real now over and the accepting beginning. At the same time he felt elated, excited, restless— he wanted to know the answers to these new questions, wanted to know everything about this new world where the magic orb came from and where magic armors, demons, and thousand-year old monks dwelled. He wanted to know it all.

But he sighed and stood up, tucking the little orb in his pocket. Its presence in his pocket gave him assurance that he would get thoses answers someday. And probably soon.

His mission now achieved, he strolled through the park leisurely, passing tourist after tourist, whole groups of them which he had not seen before. He passed back near the waterfront where he had waded out to the gate, and saw a whole group of visitors, taking pictures and marveling loudly, though none were wading as he had. He wondered why he hadn't run into them before, any of these tourists, as he stepped aside to allow an elderly couple more room on the trail. His experience felt like a moment out of time.

He walked through the park for a while until he grew hungry, and then made his way to the entrance. He was in luck; five minutes after he arrived the bus did as well, and he took it back to the city and the train station. While waiting for his train, which wouldn't come for another hour and a half, he meandered through the city, stopping and getting a teriyaki chicken skewer from a vendor's cart before losing himself in the local bookstores. His hand constantly went to his pocket, as if to assure himself that the orb really was there, that it really was real, that this all just wasn't a dream. It was there every time, smooth and warm to the touch.

He made several purchases, unable to resist several great bargains on some books—many of which were on old myths and demons; after all, it was never a bad idea to do some research. He placed them carefully in his backpack, setting them on top of the folded up duffel bag at the bottom, which he had brought for carrying the armor back, if he had found it. It made him appreciative the armor was actually, somehow, a little sphere— it was a great deal lighter, less conspicuous—and it wouldn't clank when he walked or was on the train and therefore draw curious looks from fellow passengers.

Now on the topic again, he wondered about the orb and how it was the armor as he shouldered his backpack and returned to the station. One probably said some word or incantation, or used some magic to make it expand or transform into an armor, he figured.

He caught his train back to Kyoto, reading one of his new books, and then took the train to Osaka. He managed to get a seat on this one and sat down, shoving his backpack underneath his seat. He found that he wasn't in the mood to read; instead, after the day's event (and after checking on the orb once more, still in his pocket) he let himself drift away for a nap…

And found himself with a start in the mist place in front of the Ancient One.

"Well done, my son. Well done."

Rowen stared at him, and then scrambled to his feet. "It's all true! And this--" he reached into his pocket and pulled at the orb, paused as he realized that he could actually do it, feel the warmth and smoothness of the orb in his dream, and then shrugged it off and held it up. "This is the armor!"

"It is indeed… though, in its sleeping form," replied the ancient monk. "Now, describe to me, my son, how you found it."

Rowen blinked, thinking that the Ancient One probably knew already, but launched into his story, telling him of how his mother had given him the clue, and how he'd gone to Ama no Hashidate and found it at last.

The Ancient nodded from time to time, and Rowen could just see his smile underneath his hat.

Rowen finished his tale, and waited for the Ancient to speak.

"It seems…" the monk began after a moment, "that you are confused about why the armor appeared to you…"

"Yes," said Rowen. "I don't know how it got there, or why it came, and why then, at that moment. All I was doing was standing in the water underneath the gate, thinking and standing in the wind…" he said.

"Ah, then perhaps the clue lies in what you were thinking of… what were your thoughts at that moment? Your feelings?"

Rowen frowned, struggling to remember. His feelings weren't something he talked about very much… they weren't exactly a factor in lab-work or experiments. "Well, I was thinking about why I, well, don't fit in. About my life, I guess…" he said slowly, remembering. "And then I decided that I was okay."

The Ancient gestured for him to continue. "I, er, decided that I was okay… that there was so much to learn, so much that I could do, even as just one person, and that maybe someday I'd fit in but till then I'd be fine because I could learn and experience new things every day."

The Ancient One smiled, and Rowen looked down to see that the sphere in his hand was glowing brightly in his hand.

"There is your answer, my son," said the Ancient, and he raised one hand and began to trace a symbol into the air, and it glowed brightly, suspended, and then another, till there were nine in all. Rowen read them. "Virtue… Wisdom… Trust…Justice… Life Force… Loyalty… Serenity…Obedience…Piety… What are those? They sound like doctrines of Shintoism or Buddhism…" Rowen wondered aloud.

"One of these nine traits or virtues, as you may call them, has been embodied into one of the nine armors… I did this when I created the nine," spoke the Ancient. "Can you identify which one is embodied in the armor you hold… and in you?"

Rowen looked at them all, and settled his eyes on one that felt right, that made the armor grow warm as he thought about it. "Life force…" he said, and the Ancient nodded. "But what does it mean to say that?"

"It means," explained the Ancient One, "that the armor can only be worn by one who embodies that virtue. The virtue of Life Force, or Life, indicates that you hold a great love for this world… that you respect living things, no matter what they are… that you value life and the good that can come from living it to the fullest… that you have a desire to learn about life, all of it, and to live it fully… … these are the traits I see in you, and that the Armor of Strata sees in you as well…"

Rowen didn't know what to say to that, so he looked down at the orb in his hand. "You called the armor by a name… Strata?"

"Yes. The armor you hold and can wear is the Armor of Strata."

"Strata…" he said, rolling the ball around in his hand; the name felt right too, like the virtue had. He looked up. "And how does the armor, er, work?"

The Ancient One smiled again. "Close your eyes, and concentrate on the armor in your hand. I shall assist you this first time."

Rowen did as instructed, and the Ancient reached out with his staff to touch the orb…

There was a great swelling of blue light and Rowen blinked… and found that the armor orb was gone. Instead, Rowen stood clad in blue and white armor. The blue matched his hair and eyes, and every inch of him up to his neck was covered by the armor; even his fingers were encased. He stared in awe at himself, and slowly opened and made a fist, wiggling his fingers. It didn't feel like he was wearing armor… it wasn't heavy at all, merely a comforting light weight on him. And it didn't hinder his mobility or flexibility at all; he felt that he could still pick up a pen and write, or do jumping jacks easily.

Wearing the armor made him feel like he was some superhero from one of those comics or movies, able to leap a building with a single bound, and he grinned at the thought.

The Ancient One spoke and explained. "This armor can be called at will easily, and could be enough to deal with some foes. It is much stronger than you may presume, and enhances one's physical abilities, such as speed, agility, and strength greatly. To remove it imagine the orb in your hand once more, and a feeling of release, of relaxing." Rowen did so, and after a moment found himself in his clothes once more. "To summon it is just as simple… one must imagine one wearing it."

It quickly appeared on Rowen, and the Ancient smiled. "Very good. You learn quickly. But… this is not your armor."

"It's not?" Rowen asked, surprised.

"No… this is merely the sub or under-armor. The Armor of Strata can be called from will, most easily while wearing the sub armor, and be called by the mind only… though, I believe, it may be of assistance to call it by name…

"Now, to call upon your armor, you must focus on the virtue you and the armor share… the virtue of life. Concentrate on that, and perhaps even the wind or an image of the sky or stars, for the Armor of Strata is elementally linked with these things… yes, it is no wonder that you hold such an affection for the sky and stars," smiled the Ancient One. "Use this phrase… 'Armor of Strata, Tao Inochi'"

"Tao Inochi? Oh, I get it, Inochi is the word for life force… I understand… okay," he said, steeling himself to give this a try.

He closed his eyes and began to imagine- thought of the stars and the blue sky and the feeling of the wind on his face, thought of life and living and learning and that feeling he had felt when he first found the armor… When he felt ready, when he had these things in the fore front of his mind, he opened his mouth.

"Armor of Strata, Tao Inochi!"

He shouted, clenching his hands and willing it to be.

There was an explosion of bright blue light, starting all around him and at his feet, and Rowen threw out his hands in front of him out of instinct. A great wind rushed up and around his body, and felt something changing. When the wind and the light died down, he opened his eyes.

His vision drifted down, where he could see cobalt blue armor covering him… on top of his sub-armor there had appeared extra pieces of armor over his knees and shins; his feet were in some sort of armored shoe, just like in the subarmor, but with even more protection. There was more cobalt blue armor on his forearms, and on his chest as well; his chest protector was ornamented with gold. On his arms were thick shoulder pads of the same blue armor, and he reached up to pull a helmet off of his head; it was made of the same blue metal as the rest of his armor, and equally as light. He hadn't even realized he was wearing it at first. He turned it over and looked at it from the front; there were two golden extensions from the armor, curved like the path of a streaking star, and a tall blue piece that extended up from the top.

"Come," said the Ancient, waking Rowen up from his awed state, and the monk gestured towards a pond that was appearing in the mist. Rowen stepped forward, hearing the soft ring of his feet on the ground, and stood in front of the pond. He couldn't believe the image it reflected.

He couldn't believe that the man standing in that armor, looking into the pond, wearing that cobalt blue armor was him.

And yet, though his eyes could not believe, he felt comfortable in the armor… it was warm like the orb had been, and light as the sub-armor. It felt okay… even right to stand in it, to be in it… to wear it.Though his brain could not believe, his heart was already accepting... _it was natural, like it was a part of him..._

"There is more, my son," spoke the Ancient, and Rowen looked at him in shock. "On your back."

Rowen hadn't felt the weight, but he reached around and felt something on his back; he pulled it off and stared at it.

It was a golden bow, of the same lightness as the rest of the armor. A compound bow; he pulled it apart and stared at it in awe. It was smooth and fluid, with a curve in the metal near the ends that made it a beautiful thing; it was almost as tall as him and unstrung, and yet Rowen suddenly knew he'd find the string on his back as well, coiled up and waiting. He reached around and found a metal piece on his back, like a box, and near his right shoulder at its top it had an opening.

"Your quiver," spoke the Ancient, and Rowen nodded, understanding.

"There will be more time to explain and examine the armor, my son, but for now let us halt," said the Ancient, and Rowen nodded, concentrated and released the armor.

"But I still have so many questions…" he said.

"Perhaps we have time for a few.." said the Ancient.

"You talked about the other armors…" he began, and the Ancient nodded.

"Yes… there are four more who, like you, have found or are finding their armors. You will meet them in due time… "

"But what of the other four? You said there were nine in all."

The Ancient sighed, a sigh so sad and melancholy Rowen wondered what had happened. He spoke softly, "That is a tale for another day. For now it is best that you wait, and meet and learn of your fellow armor wearers… fellow Ronin…"

Rowen blinked. "Ronin?" That word was familiar; he wracked his brain for samurai lore. "Doesn't that mean samurai without a master?"

"Yes, child."

"But… I don't understand," he said.

The ancient said sadly, "I will tell you when the time is right, with the other four. But our time is fleeting."

"Wait! Just a few more? Please?" asked Rowen, and the Ancient smiled to himself but inclined his head.

Rowen quickly began, "If I have this armor, then this means demons exist. So what types of demons are there? Where do they live? Are all the creatures in myths true? Are all myths true? How much of an influence does magic have on everyday life? Are there dragons and elves and griffins and fairies and manticores and giants and djinns and ghosts and wizards and other things like that?"

The Ancient, to Rowen's surprise, began to laugh, lifting his head back slightly and gripping his hat with his fingers to keep it from falling off. "All in good time, my son. All in time. But you must leave now," he said, and Rowen saw a little smile on his face. "I believe this is your stop.

Rowen woke up to beeping and a voice over the speakers. "Attention passengers. We have arrived in JR West Station. Please exit to your left for this stop."

He blinked in shock, and sprang to his feet. He grabbed his bag (checked his pocket for the orb) and quickly got off the train to walk back to his apartment, thinking deeply about all that had happened.

Whatever was in the future, there was no denying the fact that it would certainly be interesting, Rowen thought with an excited grin.

His hand reached into his pocket once more to touch his armor sphere.

* * *

Gosh! I'm really surprised at how long this turned out... all I thought I had to do was wrap things up, yet it took a while! I feel like I have some problems here with flow, like it's rushed... but it's already so long...! Oh well... I may fix later. Gimme some feedback, please, my faithful reviewers Hellfire13, Twilight Kunoichi, and Wildfire2. And thanks to Dranza the Phoenix Harpy, ArrowSphere, Animefreak99-06 and PyroDragon2006 for the favs or alerts! (and anybody else who i missed on accident, gomen and thanks!) I appreciate it! 

I'm hoping it's not boring (please tell me it's not or it is, I gotta know!) My stats for people reading the chapters decrease dramatically from each one (i only had 16 hits on ch. 4 pouts). I know it's not the most exciting thing out there, but I felt like this story needed to be told.

I had a lot of fun trying to figure out what Rowen would ask the Ancient about :) You get the feeling that if he had more breath he would list more mythical creatures... silly Rowen.

Oh yes, and I used the virtues from the dubs for the armors instead of the japanese ones. Those were the ones I first knew about, and therefore make the most sense to me, though I admit there are very good arguments to be made on either side. This is just what I went with.

I'm already started on the next Ronin, and Rowen's next chapter (it'll be an in-between thing between the 2nd and 3rd) so fear not, Rowen fans! he'll be back, don't you worry.)

Thanks again for reading! See ya in about a week!


	6. Sage: Chapter 1

It Was Just A Dream-- Sage: Chapter 1

by Hibana

Standard Disclaimer: I don't own Ronin Warriors.

Author's Note: Oi! Sorry for taking so long... I didn't realize how busy I was going to become or how hard this was going to turn out to be... first I had to do lots of research on kendo, and then Sage was hard to write for some reason at first... 

Oh well, I'll explain more at the end. Enjoy for now!

* * *

"Seiji, focus!"

Barked out his grandfather's voice, crisp and authoritative, and Sage blinked. He had been drifting once more, thinking of his strange dream the night before. He put aside his thoughts as his opponent— another student at the dojo—charged at him with his _shinai_ held high. Sage coolly evaded with a side step at the last moment, and struck his opponent on his chest protector or _dou_- earning his second point of the match. He only needed one more point to finish the match.

He and his opponent stepped carefully around, striking and blocking each other with their bamboo swords as each tried to score a point by hitting a part of the body—the face protector, or _men_, the chest protector or _dou_, and the arm guards or _kote_. Sage easily finished the match by performing a complex string of strikes, earning his final point. The three referees called the match, and the two opponents stepped back, Sage barely sweating while his opponent was gasping for breath.

They bowed to each other, as was demanded, and Sage's opponent bowed more deeply than Sage, to show his awe and respect for the superior student. But as Sage bowed, his mind drifted back to the dream, and his body followed the customary movements on their own as he disarmed and then walked to his grandfather for instruction, bowing as he approached.

He could hear the other students whispering as they reformed their lines, Sage's match having been the last of the day.

"He beat Ichiro so effortlessly… with such grace…"

"He has such control and skill… but that is to be expected, as he is the highest ranked student in the class, and _Sensei's _grandson."

"I hear he's in line for the National Championship, especially after he won the northeastern regional tournament."

"I wish I could be like him someday…"

At the last comment Sage smiled wryly inside. He stood at attention in front of his grandfather now.

"That was very unrefined, grandson," said the elderly man, his dark eyes sharp under his weathered face. "I expect better of you. If you cannot learn to have more control, then all of this time spent on you will have been a waste."

"Yes, Grandfather," replied Sage, as was expected of him—it was the only response he was allowed to make.

"Meditate, then, on how you may do better and reflect the honor of our family and this dojo," instructed his grandfather, and Sage bowed his head. "All of you may meditate on how to better oneself."

The class stood at attention, each quiet and with their thoughts inward. No one spoke, as to do so would be to do draw shame and perhaps even punishment onto oneself, for _Sensei_ was very strict.

At last his grandfather dismissed them, and the students of the dojo scattered, each running to perform some task—put away the equipment, sweep the floor, etc. As they finished their tasks, all bowed respectfully to their teacher as they collected their things and left the building.

Sage silently headed for the equipment room with his load of equipment, bowing absently to his grandfather as he entered the new room. His mind had drifted very unprofessionally towards his mysterious dream that night before… he did not understand why he could not shake it from his mind. Why it distracted him so. After all, it had only been a dream, if a strange one.

But what had the monk-like figure said? _You are a good son, Seiji… you have not brought shame to your family. Your heart is true._

No one had ever spoken such words to him. No one, certainly not his family, or anyone else for that matter, had said that he was a good son. All he heard, day after day, was how he could do better. Be better. Be more respectful, more courteous, more honorable, more loyal… be more of the son (or grandson) he was supposed to be. 

Be perfect.

He shook his head, his pale blond hair falling into his face as he carefully wiped clean and put away his personal equipment into his own storage containers. There was no use dwelling on such a situation, even if privately he felt his family might be asking too much of him. It was his duty, his honor to strive to be the person his family wanted him to be.

But yet his eyes were sad as he closed the lid on the box.

He did his best, always, but yet it never seemed to be enough. His grandfather was never pleased, and if his grandfather wasn't, no one else would be. Like today… even though he had been near flawless in his matches, it was not enough. In kendo, as in everything else, Sage was expected to carry the family's honor and pride. 

Especially in kendo these days. He had won a major regional tournament just a month ago, putting him in line for the national tournament some time later. However, as Sage noted and his grandfather had repeatedly said, the best opponent had been missing from the tournament- a certain Kazamatsurui Shingo, who was the best student of the other leading dojo. Sage's victory hadn't been complete, he had heard many times, because this opponent was not there.

He sighed heavily again, standing up and stretching out his arm muscles.

Several of his fellow students walked into the room, laughing loudly (Sage assumed Grandfather was gone, for they would never do so if he was near) as they carried in the mats. They quieted instantly as they saw Sage standing there.

"Seiji-kun," they acknowledged him, and Sage nodded to them.

They quickly stowed the mats, talking in hushed whispers around Sage, and left just as quickly. The students were always respectful to him, polite as was due as Sage was the senior student and grandson of the _sensei_, but never a step beyond that. To them that was all Sage was, the best student, the teacher's grandson— distant and unapproachable. That was all he was.

_You are an honorable person… _

He recalled suddenly the figure from his dreams saying that. That person had looked at him, and Sage had felt as if the man had seen straight to his soul, measured him… and then said such things. 

This was the reason, then, it affected him so… not merely for the fact that no one ever said such things to him, Date Seiji, second-born child but eldest (and only) son and heir to the Date family… but because the strange man in the dream had seemed to read his heart and judge it accordingly. He had felt that the man could… and did.

It had all started as a simple dream…

"Excuse me… Date-san? Your grandfather wishes to speak with you," came a voice behind him, and Sage pulled out of his reverie to see a fellow student standing in the doorway. 

"Thank you," he replied, and the student bowed and left. 

Sage sighed and finished what he was doing, and went to find his grandfather. He wondered what he'd done now.

He found not only his grandfather but also his father waiting for him in the office. 

"Seiji, we have just received an invitation…" said his father, holding up a piece of paper. "From the instructors of Kazamatsurui Shingo. They wish to arrange an exhibition match between you and Kazamatsurui. As a preliminary to the nationals… and, especially because he was not able to attend the regional tournament you won."

"It will be a demonstration for both of the dojos. You will, of course, wish to do this," said his grandfather.

If his grandfather wanted it, what else could he do but that? He felt it was his duty to his grandfather. But…

"Grandfather, Father… is this really a match I wish to have? Would it not be better to save this for a tournament instead of like this?"

His grandfather grew irritated. "Enough grandson! This is an honor to have this match, and an excellent chance to demonstrate our dojo's skill and technique. You will have this match against Kazamatsurui, and you will not bring shame to us."

Sage bowed his head. "I understand, Grandfather."

"Good. You are dismissed."

Sage bowed and turned and left, but the door was slightly ajar and he could hear his grandfather's voice

"… still so rebellious… just like when he was a child."

"Aren't you being a bit hard on him, Honorable Father? He is still young and learning, and he does—"

"He does not have the obedience and respect that he should, and he could do much better in his training. He must now, for this match will be forthcoming."

"How soon will it be held?"

"Eh, they seemed quite eager to have this match… preparations will move swiftly… perhaps in two weeks time."

"I see…"

Sage realized that he was standing still, listening to every word, and quickly moved away before he could be caught eavesdropping.

_So_… he thought to himself as he walked back through the dojo to get his clothes and change, _I am to fight Kazamatsurui_. He had heard much about his skill and talent. It would be a tough match for sure.

But perhaps worst of all was that he didn't even particularly _want_ to have the match… he did like kendo a great deal but it was being turned into something that he only did, not enjoy. And this match would be merely another chance for him to fail his grandfather's expectations.

He sighed, changed out of his kendo clothes and packed his things. It seemed his father wasn't done speaking with grandfather yet, so Sage resolved to wait for him so they could all return for dinner together.

He settled himself into a mediation position on a bench outside the dojo in a little garden, his legs crossed, and relaxed his body and mind, letting his thoughts come and go freely.

He sank into that peaceful state of mind, trying very hard to bury the thoughts of the upcoming match and all the pressure it brought him, only adding to his burden already, and succeeded, sinking down into himself. The sunlight was soft on his face, and the smell of flowers blooming in spring filled the air.

He drifted away…

And then his eyes were open in a place of mist as a robed monk stood before him, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and bearing a golden staff. A figure he recognized.

"Who are you?" he asked, and found his voice echoed throughout the strange place. He was dreaming, he knew, just like the night before.

"I am called the Ancient One," spoke the monk. "Do you recognize me?"

"Yes," replied Sage. "But what is this place? Why am I here?"

"This place is inside of you, in your dreams…I have brought myself here by magic so that I can speak with you… and you are here because there is more that you can be."

"Can be?" asked Sage. "Wait, do you mean that you want me to be something? I don't need any more of that." The bitter words fell from his mouth, unbidden, and Sage stopped, realizing first that he'd said them aloud and secondly that he meant them. Never had he been more aware than then that he resented his family's harsh expectations of him… the pressure they placed on him, weighing him down and down.

He didn't see it, so engrossed in his own thoughts, but the Ancient's face softened in sympathy. "No, my child." His voice was soft and his eyes were sad. "This is not about what you do for others… but for yourself."

At that Sage raised his head. "What… do you mean?"

"It is certainly important to value the opinions of those who care about you, and whom you care about in return. Those who wish well for you, who have bonds of family and friendship. But… you must never ignore the voice of your own heart. Others may wish for you to be something… to act a certain way, live a certain life… feel a certain way. But what matters the most, above all of this, is the person you wish to be. There is wisdom in this."

Sage stared at him, trying to understand. He nodded at last.

"What I am here to speak to of concerns something that, if you choose, you would do for yourself… to seek out your own heart."

The monk shifted on his feet. "I am able to speak to you here through magic, and it is magic and sorcery I wish to speak to you of. For, you see, my child, one thousand years ago…"

Sage listened in silence as the monk described, with words and tonality, a great battle between demon lord and man that took place in Japan. The mist rose up from the ground and color flickered in its whiteness, showing Sage the battle in visual image. 

"Nine armors were made from the demon's armor which could not be destroyed. Nine armors, each imbued with a virtue at their making, were hidden about Japan… in wilderness or given to clans to protect. One of them was given to your forefathers, Date Seiji… I wish for you, if you so accept this call, to seek it out. Do this not for me, not for your family, but for yourself, Seiji… to discover who you are," spoke the Ancient, his voice ringing with earnestness and sincerity. "And who you can become if you wish it."

The rings on the monk's staff began to chime, pealing like bells, and Sage got the sense that this strange conversation was ending.

"Go in peace, my son, and know you are not alone," said the monk, and mist began to rise and swirl…

And Sage opened his eyes to stare at the garden before him. He blinked, trying to comprehend what had happened. He must have fallen asleep while meditating…

He heard sounds approaching, and saw his grandfather and father coming over.

"Ah, there you are, Seiji… meditating, I see…" his father nodded almost approvingly. "It is time for dinner."

"Yes, Father," said Sage, appreciative that the dream had ended when it did, and thinking deeply followed his father and grandfather.

* * *

Well! There's the first chapter of Sage's story. What did you think? 

And first of all, there is a reason that I used both the name Seiji and Sage, with people calling him Seiji and me narrating him as Sage. It has nothing really to do with the differences between dubs and japanese version either. I think that, realistically, and this is pseudo-realism here, that he would be called Seiji and be known as that in Japan. Seiji is the japanese name, after all... (I could get away with calling Rowen by that because he was American-Japanese, fyi). But I really like and know him as Sage. So, I started thinking, and I figured out a way to make Sage his name later on in the context of this story, at least by the other Ronin Warriors (butI'm not going to tell you how yet. Try and figure it out if you want to, it's not all that clever). I may post the story soon as a stand-alone, because it's rather cute, and I figured I was going to post it eventually... but we'll see.

Secondly, I apologize for any errors in my kendo information (oh, and fyi, a shinai is the wooden sword that they use in kendo, I think). I watched a couple of matches on youtube and researched it and I think it's mostly right... but please let me know if anything's off! 

And the whole bowing thing, I do it in tae kwon do just like that, and it's all about respect so I figured it could carry over to kendo. Don't know if it's true but it sounded fine to me. :)

I'd also like to say how difficult this was for me to write... maybe because I had been in Rowen-mode for so long... and maybe because Sage is some complicated, it seems like to me... either in the series or because of all of the contrasting views of his personality (I particularly disagree with him being a flirt, i just don't see it). So please tell me what you think about my characterization of him! I do like feedback.

Oh well... this is all just the musing of my tiny little mind... but I hope you enjoyed it, nonetheless! I don't think this story is going to be as long as Rowen's was... but we'll see what happens! (And hopefully I can update the next chapter soon).

If you're still reading at this point, then thanks doubly so (one, for reading my story, and two, for reading my ranting!)


	7. Sage: Chapter 2

It Was Just A Dream

Sage's Story- Chapter 2

A Ronin Warriors Faniction by Hibana

Standard Disclaimer: I don't own Ronin Warriors

Author's Note: Sorry everyone! I got really busy at the end of the school year and didn't have time to even think about writing! But, lo and behold, I sat down today and discovered I could write again! So here's the next chapter... I've go the rest of the chapters for Sage's section mostly done, so expect some updates soon! This chapter is a little shorter than normal, but I'll probably post the next one by the end of the night, so enjoy!

* * *

"Seiji? Would you mind terribly going to the store for me?" asked his grandmother. "It seems we have run out of your grandfather and mother's favorite tea…I would so hate to disappoint them at supper tonight."

"Not at all, Grandmother," replied Sage, looking up from the book he was reading: an old tome about legends and myths. Sage had been trying to look up the legend the Ancient One had told him— no, to say that would imply that he believed that the dream was real, and he wasn't sure he did yet- as he looked up the myth he had dreamed about. He wasn't having much luck; there were, of course, frequent mentions to demons and heroic samurai throughout the book. Some of the samurai even had magic swords; however, no tale fit the one he had heard in his dream. It would be a relief to step away from it for a moment.

"Ah, thank you, Seiji… you do remember the brand?"

"Yes, grandmother."

"Oh, good…" she stepped out and returned with some money. "Best buy two this time, so we don't have this situation again."

Sage nodded to his grandmother and was quickly out the door.

After half-an-hour's journey by bus and foot Sage arrived at the shop where he knew the tea was available. He found the brand, grabbed two of the containers, and stood in line to pay. He sighed as he waited, looking around the shop. There, outside the window, were some teenagers about his age, though he was not sure. They were laughing and joking with each other, each with dark hair and complexion that, when they moved along, caused them to disappear into the crowd, becoming indistinguishable from the other dark haired like-skin people. Sage watched the people move by, a sea or blur of dark hair. He knew that if were to walk into that crowd, attempt to blend and hide within it, he'd stand out like a stain on an otherwise perfect surface. His fair blonde hair and fairer skin would surely do that… and if anyone looked at his eyes, well… eyes as pale as his were rare.

He was different… that he knew. He'd always been mocked in school for his looks. In fact, he wore his hair as he did, with one covered to dampen his pale eyes' effect… make it less noticeable, if only one pale blue eye could be seen.

He didn't look Japanese… that's what he was told by his classmates. So how could he be? Was he adopted? Was he from Europe? Or even America? How was he Japanese, with such coloring…

How was he the heir to the famous Date Family, when he didn't even look Japanese?

He had found it… the reason.

Maybe… this is why he tried so hard, he mused to himself. To become what his family wanted him to be. To be the ideal grandson, ideal son, perfect and honorable in every word and act. Because he would never look the part.

He paid for the tea and stepped out into the crowd, all the time feeling as if he didn't belong.

"…_you are not alone…"_ That's what the Ancient had said. Then, why did he feel like he was?

* * *

"Are you sure, Seiji, that this is the right brand?"

"Yes Grandmother."

"But it doesn't look like the old one…" she took out the old container and compared them.

"It's the same, Grandmother."

"But just look at it, Seiji! It's not the same... you bought the wrong one..."

"It is the same brand, Grandmother… they merely changed the color of the wrapper to a darker shade of green. See? Here on the label..."

"Ah, well, then,… thank you, Seiji."

He nodded and began to walk back but a thought stopped him. "Grandmother? You wouldn't happen to know of any legends about our family, would you?"

"Legends? About our family?" she asked, taken a bit aback.

Sage nodded. "I was, uh, doing some research…"

She looked pleased and surprised. "Well, I'm afraid I don't remember all of them… it would be best to ask your grandfather. He will surely know."

Sage nodded—he had expected that. "I will, then… Thank you…"

He went back to reading the book, looking for some kind of confirmation... a sign, a hint, anything that what he dreamed was true.

* * *

It was quiet at dinner, as it was every night. His family ate their meal delicately, the only sounds the soft slurping or the quiet knocking of chopsticks picking up food. Sage hesitated before speaking, for the silence was a bit repressive—it made him feel he shouldn't break it, that to do so would be bad. But he wanted to know about any legends… he wanted some kind of confirmation of the Ancient's story.

"Grandfather?" he began hesitantly.

As he had suspected, everyone stopped to look at him, look at the one who had broken their peaceful silence. He hesitated again.

"Yes, Grandson?" replied the elderly man. "Do you have something to say?"

"I was wondering, Grandfather, about our clan's history… are there any legends that relate to our heritage?" Sage asked, hoping for a good response.

The elderly man hummed to himself and sat down his chopsticks. "An interesting question… why do you ask, Seiji?"

Again Sage hesitated—he hadn't anticipated that question. He quickly thought of a reply that might suit his grandfather, and said it confidently as if it had been his intent all along. "I have been meditating on what it means to be a member of the Date family in preparation for my upcoming kendo match… and I wished to hear more of our history."

To Sage's surprise, his grandfather seemed to greatly approve—he nodded and hummed to himself again, and nodded again. "Good, good," he said quietly, and cleared his throat. "There is one legend in particular that I remember… it involved our clan's founder, the great Date Masamune. You, of course, know of him… it is he whose victories on the battlefield as both general and samurai, as well as his ferocity in battle, that earned him the name 'One-eyed Dragon' and gave rise to our family." He cleared his throat again, a sign to his family that he was moving from historical fact to something else. "The legend is quite unspecific except for a few vague details… the claim is that Date Masamune was approached by a mystical monk who saw his virtue and greatness and asked him to protect an artifact of great value and power. It was to be an heirloom of the Date clan and protected by all members."

"What was the artifact, Grandfather?" asked Sage, his heart pounding in his chest.

"It was some kind of special armor… taken from a demon and remolded or something like that… a powerful, mystical armor…" replied his grandfather, pleased by Sage's interest in his past.

Sage couldn't believe his ears. Here was the confirmation that he had been seeking all along—it gave credence to the dreams Sage had been having.

His grandfather continued. "That is the legend of our family… Date Masamune's greatness was recognized and a talisman given to him… alas, however, it is just a legend… if such an artifact were given to our clan, it has been lost throughout the centuries…"

Sage heard his grandfather's words and some of his excitement diminished. So the armor had been lost… but still, he told himself, he now knew it had existed… and if he were to believe the Ancient One, that it still did…

"Thank you, Grandfather," he replied, pulling himself out of his thoughts.

His grandfather cleared his throat. "It pleases me, Seiji, that you are interested in your ancestry… and that you are taking the kendo match most seriously…"

Sage hid his smile by bowing his head.

Sage's spirits were high the rest of the evening and he had much to think about as he prepared for bed. His grandfather's approval tonight, even over something so small as a question about their heritage, gave Sage hope. Not only did it confirm the Ancient's story, not only did it confirm that Sage was on the right track towards it, but it also gave Sage hope that he _could _be the person his family wanted him to be.

A sudden thought, rising from the depths of himself, rose to the top like a bubble and shattered, scattering his good spirits.

_Is that really who he wanted to be?_

He paused in the middle of turning down his bed covers, thinking.

He found he had no answers and went to sleep instead.

* * *

Well? What'd ya think? I'm building up to the big chapter, which will be chapter four of his story (chapter nine of the series).

Do you think Sage accepted the whole magic thing too quickly? I might go back and add, I'm not sure yet... and as I sort of explain in the next chapter, he kind of needs to believe in it and what the Ancient is saying...

Anyway, give me your feedback! Pretty please? Even if it is just to say I took too long to update!


	8. Sage: Chapter 3

It Was Just a Dream

Sage's Story- Chapter 3

By Hibana

Disclaimer: I don't own Ronin Warriors. They belong to whoever they belong to (which isn't me, sadly).

* * *

Sage knelt in his kendo gear, meditating before the match began. It had been two weeks, two long weeks of intensive training and focus on him by his grandfather (which included frequent disappointments and announcements that Sage was not good enough). Two long weeks of looking through his family's records and things, trying to find another clue about the armor—he had dared not ask his grandfather again, not with the all-important kendo match now here. Despite his grandfather's happiness over his interest in his history, he might view the interest as a sign that Sage was not focusing on the match.

The match. He felt the weight of his family's expectations weigh down on him, making the padding of his kendo armor heavier on his body. He felt he wouldn't be able to move, let alone compete, if they placed any more expectations on him.

Their family's honor. Their pride. His honor. His pride. Their expectations (not confidence, but knowing that he must win for their sake). His future.

He felt everything getting heavier, tighter—the pressure was building, mounting. He was going to be crushed by their expectations, by this task they had set out before him. He was a stone being pounded into dust by their pressure.

His grandfather would have disagreed. He would have said, if Sage had asked, that pressure was a necessary part of greatness… that diamonds were simply lumps of coal before pressure (and diligence and virtue, Grandfather would have added incorrectly) made them into valuable jewels.

But Sage felt that he was, and would always be, simply a piece of coal… the black sheep in his family. The irony of the analogy did not escape him, the fair one of his dark family… of his perfect family. He was the weak link, and it would show today. He feared.

He took a deep shuddering breath and let it out slowly. He must think positively… he would defeat himself before the match even began. He was skilled, very skilled, despite his grandfather's insistence that he was not good enough— he would be a worthy opponent. Perhaps even lose with honor.

No. To lose would mean disgrace, even in some small way.

But that wasn't the only thing he had to worry about.

There were nearly a hundred ways he could disgrace himself in the match… little things, little slip-ups that would not go unnoticed. He could win the match and still bring shame on himself. On his family. Disgracing them would be much worse than merely disgracing himself—he felt like his disgrace would be a mere shadow of theirs, even if his was the cause; but then again that would simply be a reflection of how important he was to them—not very, except when he could disgrace them. At least, that's how he felt at this moment, when he felt as if he could barely breathe.

His chest protector seemed to be tightening and squeezing the very air out of him.

He felt a sudden wish to be free of it, to be free of this pressure, of his family's expectations…

And to find that armor.

He desperately wanted to find it. It had been almost three weeks since the Ancient One had given him the task of finding the armor… three weeks since he had lost spoken with him. Oddly, though, the task didn't weigh heavily on him like that of his family's… it seemed to lift him up. Offer him freedom.

He wasn't sure, reflecting on it again, when the search for the armor had turned into a search for his own freedom, into an escape from his family's pressures… and escape into being something else, something other than what his family wanted and demanded of him. The Ancient One had offered him a quest, a chance… he had stressed in that dream that it was _his _choice, Sage's choice to do so, that the search would be done for him and him alone, not for anyone else.

And Sage reveled in having something of his own, in doing something for himself, just for himself… his family not ordering him to do it, his family not even knowing of it… just something of his own.

And to find that armor? It would mean succeeding. Proving to Sage that he could succeed in setting out in a task… and that he could succeed in something he personally chose to do. Just the thought of accomplishing that filled him with hope.

He only wished the Ancient had been more forthcoming with details about where he might find the armor. Or came into his dream again and gave him a clue, some sign. But, then again, he mused, figures like the Ancient One—and other wise mystics from legends—rarely gave out such clues. It was for Sage to find out and discover, a part of his journey—and the journey itself was supposed to teach him, Sage knew. So he continued to seek that elusive armor, even though part of him wished for aid.

He'd find it, though, he told himself firmly, mustering his strength. He wouldn't let this chance slip away.

Now if he could only get through this day with honor…

Part of that would depend on the skill of his opponent. Sage opened his eyes and regarded his opponent, sitting as he was across the floor on the other side of the mats. He too was meditating, trying to center himself before this match. Sage tried to take his measure. Kazamatsuri Shingo had dark hair and presumably dark eyes—a typical Japanese, then. Sage could have rolled his eyes at the irony of it. Though he was sitting, he looked like he would be tall when he stood, perhaps as tall as Sage's 174 cm, and probably about the same weight, though Sage couldn't tell with the kendo padding on. They would be even matched, then.

He looked calm and focused, which was as much as Sage could expect from all he had heard about him. His grandfather had constantly described Kazamatsuri's virtues and skills to Sage.

Did Kazamatsuri feel the same pressures Sage felt, he wondered? Did he have his family and dojo pressuring him? Though he probably did not have the (mis)fortune of his family being the dojo, he probably did. He probably had heard the same lectures as Sage, the same words on honor and virtue.

Sage began to feel sympathy for him, he who probably had endured much the same as he. Furthermore, one of them was going to have to lose—there would be no draw in this match, Sage's grandfather had told him—and that saddened Sage for some reason. Even if the match was long and filled with perfection on both sides, and the loss was honorable as one finally got the better of the other (the optimal match, Sage reasoned, for both he and Kazamatsuri's sake) one of them would still lose, and carry that bit of dishonor, no matter how much honor had been accrued during the match.

So, Sage mused to himself, he should do this match as honorably as possible and to the best of his ability—that way, if he won, he would be doubly blessed. If he lost, then his dishonor would be less. He mused on the second. If he could just perform honorably enough, fight with enough skill, that his grandfather might still be disappointed but would be able to talk to others and say, "Ah, well, yes, he did loose to Kazamasturi, however, he fought well and with such honor..." He shook his head. As if his grandfather would say that... still, if he just did well...

He eyed Kazamatsuri again. What were his chances of defeating him, he wondered? It all depended on his skill—

"Ni-chan," came a soft voice near him, drawing him from his musing, and Sage turned to look at his younger sister, Satsuki. His older sister Yayoi was standing behind her. "Do your best, Seiji-chan!" She smiled in encouragement.

Sage softened and gave his sister a nod. Though he didn't get to spend a lot of time with either of his siblings, he liked Satsuki the best. As the youngest of their family she had escaped many of the pressures that Sage and Yayoi had endured and was much kinder for it.

Yayoi stepped forward. Older than Seiji by five years, she had endured as many pressures as Sage had. Before Sage was born it was she who was thought to be the heir (Sage, as a male, had outranked her and been given that status). Though she tried not to be bitter, Sage knew she resented the situation in some manner.

Confident that no one was around that could hear her, she leaned forward. "Just don't screw up, baby brother," she teased.

He rolled his eyes.

Grandfather approached and cleared his throat. The two girls straightened, bowed to their grandfather, and returned to the side of the ring where they could watch.

Silence slowly swept through the room as the judges appeared and began to speak, announcing the match with all the formalities. He heard the officials discussing briefly, and then stating that his match would be of five mintues in length. Five mintues… thought Sage. Three minutes was the customary length for local, more informal tournaments. They must want this to be like a championship match.

He felt the pressure rising, which he had kept at bay for so long, rising up and crushing his stomach.

Sage closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He reached out to his right and closed his fingers around the handle of his kunai.

The announcers called his name, and he stood, bowing.

His grandfather's voice followed him as he stepped forward.

"Don't fail me…"

* * *

Dunh dunh duhhh! And it's here next time, folks! The big kendo match! It's going to be rather long, i warn you-- i've written everything except most of the kendo match itself and it's pretty big already, so i worry at what wordlength i'll end up with. Oh well!

Sage sure thinks a lot, doesn't he? I always imagined he did... analyzing everything nearly as much as Rowen... probably why they get along so well, though they don't analyze in the quite the same way. Oh, and I've always been inspired by Sage's character song "Pressure". You should go find the Ronin Warriors mp3s and take a listen... even though they're Japanese 80s pop music (with all that entails), they can be enlightening to the characters! Just read Pressure's lyrics and you'll see what I meant and why i took this angle.

And in case you were wondering, Sage's height of 174 centimeters i got from some fan sites with his bios on it... 174 cm is about 5 foot 7, and that's what the majority had, though i saw 5 ft. 4, 5 ft. 5, 5 ft. 9, and so on... i just picked 5'7" cause i figured it was a good height. A lot more than my 4 ft 11 inches and 5/7 of an inch! And i used centimeters rather than feet because I think the rest of the world (except for the USA and Great Britain) are using metric. Just in case you wondered.

Oh, and the sister's names i got from those sites. (shrugs). i figured they were either right or close enough.

Yeah! Next chapter is the big one! I'm excited, Sage's going to grow a lot. anyway, drop me a line if you want to, and i hope you enjoyed it!


	9. Sage: Chapter 4

It Was Just A Dream

Sage's Story- Chapter 4

by Hibana

Disclaimer: I do not own Ronin Warriors. They belong to someone else.

Author's Note: What madness is this? An update from me within three days of the the other! The insanity! Oh well, enjoy! Oh yeah, those little squares indicate page break. Almost forgot. Enjoy!

* * *

The judges moved into place, carrying their red and white flags. Sage and Kazamatsuri stood with merely a meter between them as the judge decreed again that this was an exhibition match, so on and so on… Sage barely heard him, his heart was pounding too loudly in his chest. Thump thump. Thump thump. It was as loud as a drum—surely they could hear it and would call him out for his nervousness?

Outwardly he maintained a carefully neutral face, focused and concentrated. Kazamatsuri was doing the same. Neither of them wore the masks that one traditionally wore in a match for safety—the heads of the two schools had decided they were good enough to do without.

Now he stood facing Kazamatsuri, eye to eye. Fair haired versus dark haired. Surely someone would notice the difference and comment.

His mind snapped to attention as he heard the judge shout the commands that would start the match. He bowed deeply to his opponent, and the bow was returned.

The judge issued some final commands, and then nodded to each of the other judges, to insure they were ready. Sage felt the tension mounting in the air, and his heart responded.

No, this would not do. He was in control, not his emotions. With all the discipline he had he clamped down on them and succeeded in acquiring some of the calm which he had showed on his face. Though his heart was still racing…

Then the judge's hand cut down through the air between them like a knife as he roared the command for "BEGIN!"

It was like someone had shocked Sage's heart. It thudded painfully—and then his body took over, knowing what he was to do, and his mind quickly followed—and he raised his shinai and struck like lightning, shouting his target—he saw Kazamatsuri's shinai come down just like his was for a head strike, and he stepped just to the left so that their swords clashed against each other—the first strike was both theirs—

And Sage stepped out of the way and began to circle, looking for an opening, just as his opponent was. His heart was pounding but he didn't have time for it now; he knew so surely what he must do.

He gave a feint and Kazamatsuri stepped out of the way, too skilled to fall for it as a less- experienced practitioner might have. Kazamatsuri performed his own test of Sage's skill—a little sliding step and lunge, to see if Sage would make an opening—Sage saw through it and merely stepped around, back into their circle of watching.

Sage decided and quickly went on the initiative—strike and yell, blocked, step, strike again, blocked but less so, slide and strike again, quicker than reflex, almost had him step step feint block opening THERE!

There was a murmur in the crowd as Sage scored the first point—the flags were raised by the judges and the score was marked. He circled Kazamatsuri and felt the pride in having made the first point, barely noticing the crowd. All he could hear was the sounds of the match, the rustle of cloth against padding, the thwacks of their shinai hitting each other's, their concentrated yells—Sage felt his throat almost raw already from his shouts.

The broke apart after this next skirmish, circling again, stepping in and out trying to find openings. Sage's wayward lock of hair had fallen into his eye, but he couldn't help it nor did it bother him, used to it as he was. He was watching Kazamatsuri's chest- the center of his balance—trying to see where he would move next.

Kazamatsuri rushed in determinedly—block, block, block, step out and block again, turn and step and block, sidelong step and another as he came again—block block strike, no, block again almost there, not quite, block…!

Sage felt Kazamatsuri's shinai thump against him and knew he had scored a point. They were even now, evenly matched…? Sage knew it was too early to tell but he got the feeling that he might be better, might have this match.

How long had it been? How many minutes, seconds had gone by, he wondered as they went in again, and then again for a second confrontation, neither getting any points. Sage was becoming used to Kazamatsuri's pace and tactics—he varied his deliberately to throw Kazamatsuri off of his.

No time- take the initiative—strike feint strike and step--almost had him with that one-- turn, strike again, strike block and strike—Sage felt a surge of confidence suddenly as he nearly got a point again, and an energy rush along with it—strike block strike—should he pull out and start again? No! He could get a point this time!—he struck again and again, deliberately slowing his pace, step strike block and strike—and then suddenly STRIKE! Faster than lightning! Yes!

The crowd grew more alive, murmuring as Sage had taken his second point. But Sage had taken more than that. He had his measure now, he was one point away from victory, and Kazamatsuri knew it too. Sage felt a rush of hope as he circled his opponent, and then focused again—he could do this, he could!

Kazamatsuri went on the offensive, trying to tie the points, and Sage evaded, stepped, blocked, stepped out, blocked, and struck. Block, strike strike block, he was turning Kazazamatsuri's offensive into his! Kazamatsuri caught on and disengaged, and they circled again.

Sage had him now, putting the pressure on him. After a series on swift exchanges, Kazamatsuri fell to one knee, losing his balance on the sand as he struggled to evade. Unnoticed by Sage or anyone else his hand grabbed at the sand floor and held onto it.

As Sage prepared himself for the next onslaught, daring to hope that the victory was going to be his, Kazamatsuri pushed off the floor, at the same time releasing the fine white sand at Sage's face.

It struck Sage's face and eyes, and he gasped, his left eye stinging. He squeezed it shut quickly, but it didn't stop the pain. He couldn't open it to see, but luckily, it seemed, his hair had shielded his other eye, and he flipped it out of the way with a flick of his head, his left eye squeezed shut.

How dare he! He thought with growing anger. To do such a thing was of the basest tactics, that only a coward would do. That's what his grandfather had taught him. It shamed his school, his teachers, his family, him… _One must never strike an opponent uncontrolled… one must never attempt to strike one's foe unconscious… one must never knock away an opponent's armor, especially the face protector… but above all, one must never resort to base tactics… to do so would lead to the utmost shame, and suspension from all of kendo. _Rang his grandfather's voice in his mind. Sage stopped as he realized the repercussions for Shin. He knew them all too well…

Time seemed to slow down for Sage as he realized the enormity of the situation.

He could call the match right now, announce to the judges, reveal Kazamatsuri's actions. He would be the winner, and in the face of his opponent's shame, the honorable opponent.

He could have everything that he had wanted.

His grandfather would be proud of him, for once, for the first time… his family would be honored to call him family. He would have brought honor and glory to his family and dojo… it wouldn't matter, all of his past mistakes, his looks, any of it… he would finally make them proud of him.

He could see it now…

And realized that it wasn't what he wanted.

To reveal Kazamatsuri's action would draw shame onto him… he would probably be expelled from kendo, at the very least suspended.

He looked at him, really looked at him for the first time through his good eye. He was just like himself… he probably had his family demanding perfection from him too, expecting him to win. And unable to beat Sage, not knowing what else to do, he had resorted to the lowest of lows in kendo, risking everything, to try and fulfill his family's expectations. His family might never forgive him for this shame…

Sage realized he never wanted anyone to have to go through that. To feel that shame, that ridicule… that disapproval like he did. To feel that much of it.

And so, without a second thought, he took it onto himself.

He roared with apparent and sudden anger, surprising Kazamatsuri Shingo, who took a step back.

Sage lifted his _shinai_ and quickly struck him in the face.

The instant murmurs of disapproval and shock spread throughout the room, and Sage could already feel his grandfather's eyes boring into him, as if to smite him down where he stood, that disgraceful excuse for a grandson.

It grew even worse when Shingo collapsed, Sage's blow having knocked him unconscious.

Events had happened quickly after that moment. The judge called the match, and no sooner had he done so then his grandfather dragged him off the arena and out of public view. Once they were in another room the elderly man cuffed him sharply across the face, anger in every line of his weathered face.

"Have you ignored every teaching I have attempted to pass onto you, grandson!" he bellowed. "If you wished to shame us all, you could do no more!"

Sage did not reply, holding his head down and not meeting his eyes. He would not say a word; it would only make it worse.

His grandfather continued to bellow about the shame he had caused, the disgrace he took onto himself; he finally stopped out of sheer disgust, finding no words to express his displeasure.

Out of the corner of his eye, through the parted doorway, Sage could see Shingo being lifted away on a stretcher. His family passed by, his sister Yayoi looking away, whether from shame or disgust, and Satsuki looking around with apprehension, no doubt worried for him.

Matters escalated as his mother entered the room, his father following. She took the lecture into her own hands, and preceded to tell him of the disgrace and the condition he had left his honorable opponent in.

Sage made no sound.

His grandfather grew angry once more listening to it anew, and he gripped Sage's arm in a tight, angry grip, with his thin fingers on his arm like talons. He half-dragged, half-led Sage through the dojo, and to the basement.

"Reflect on your failings, boy," he said angrily. "We will return for you when we can bear to look at you without feeling the shame."

The door slammed behind him with a heavy but decisive thud, and Sage heard the key turn in the lock, sealing him in.

He stood there for a moment and listened as footsteps went away.

Now alone at last, Sage sighed, and let his shinai fall out of his hands to hit the floor. It hit it feebly as Sage wondered what he had done.

He didn't regret his actions (well, a part of him did a little) but instead sighed at the trouble he had gotten himself into. All of that effort… all of it… everything he had done to get his family's approval had been lost, thrown away by that choice.

He reflected again on his choice… remembering that realization… that, at the moment he could have had all their approval, brought honor to himself and them all, he had chosen to throw it away.

Because, he realized, that wasn't who he wanted to be.

He slowly removed the arm guards, and then the leg guards, laying them on the floor. He went and tried to turn on the light to the basement, but found that it was burned out, and finding no candle or match, sat on the floor to wait in the dark.

Honor certainly was a complex notion, he thought to himself. His action of striking Kazamatsuri in the face certainly was dishonorable, but his intent to shield him from the shame of Shingo's own actions certainly was, wasn't it? So where did that leave him?

His eye was still stinging, and he wished he had something to wash it out with. He searched around and found his family's disaster rations and used the water, splashing his eye until he could finally see out of it again.

He sighed and settled back into a meditating position, reflective and somber. His eyes drifted to the weak beam of light, the only in the room, coming in from a dust-covered window that was just above the ground line.

He stared at that light and searched through himself.

He had chosen to strike Kazamatsuri and take the shame onto himself, hide his opponent's shame with his, and chosen not to have his family's approval in that moment… because it was not entirely what he wanted. And he could never live with himself knowing that he had gained his family's approval at the expense of someone else.

And what did he want? Did he not care about his family's approval anymore at all? No, he reasoned, he did still care… he did want to make them proud of him.

That just couldn't be all that he wanted. It wasn't, anymore.

All of his life, all of that time, he had been striving to be someone that his family wanted him to be… a specific person who acted and thought in a certain way. He couldn't be just that person… he had to be himself too. He couldn't live his life anymore, trying only to be something he wasn't… something that he wasn't sure he ever could be. He might never be able to fulfill his family's expectations of him… especially after today, he thought wryly.

It didn't mean he still wouldn't try… it didn't mean he didn't care…. It meant that he had to be, wanted to be himself, his own person.

He wanted to be all that he could be, like the Ancient had said.

There were so many uncertainties, but whatever was certain in this life? He wasn't sure he could ever fulfill his family's expectations, or ever become the man he could be… but he could try. And he could try, knowing that he had made a conscious, aware decision to do so.

And he found some of peace of mind in that.

He blinked and gasped, rising to his feet as the ray of light coming into the basement suddenly intensified, becoming brighter and brighter. It began to expand, filling the dark room with light as Sage blinked rapidly, holding his hand up to cover his eyes. Energy was pounding through him, suddenly, quickly, and his heart raced as the light brightened and brightened till everything was light…

And then it was gone, the room was mostly dark again but for the ray of light, now weak again and coming in through the dust-covered window.

And light was coming from something warm in his hand… a bright, pure light, squeezing out from between his fingers in his clenched hand.

He opened his hand slowly to see a glowing orb, green and warm and wholesome in his hand… the warmth from it was spreading through him like the light, lifting up his spirits.

And he realized, in a shift of all thought and purpose, the realization coming out of the dark, out of nowhere like the light, that this glowing thing in his hand was the armor he had been seeking.

Sage couldn't stop staring at the glowing thing in his hand. He rolled it over and over with his thumb, marveling at the smoothness of it. How, how, he wondered, was this the armor he had been seeking? Yet he couldn't deny that realization that it was, the intuition that told him so and led him thus far. This _was_ the armor…and he had found it at last.

But why had it come to him then and there? Surely there was some explanation for that, if he could not answer the question of how it had arrived or how it was so small.

Perhaps the clue was in the Ancient's words…his task, given to him by the Ancient, had been to find his own identity… it was only fitting that the armor, though lost, would come to him after he had taken great steps towards doing so.

Now that he had found it, however, he wondered what was to happen next… surely the Ancient One would come again and tell him? He realized with a rush that the fantastical legend that the Ancient had told him was true, and that, therefore, many other things he had relegated to being mere myths or tales could also be true. What would this mean for him?

He sank into a deep meditative state, hoping…

And opened his eyes to find himself in the mist place once more.

"Well done, my son… Well done indeed…"

The smile on the Ancient's face and the peace of mind in Sage's heart was all the approval Sage needed.

* * *

Yeaahhh! Aren't you so proud of Sage? I know I am! He made good progress (nods to self).

I really tried to capture the feeling of the kendo match... first, I watched an hour's worth of kendo matches on youtube, so I think I have the match fairly well represented. Secondly, I do martial arts so I know the feeling one feels right before a big match. And the rules about kendo in there that Sage remembers are basically the rules... polished up a little for my purposes... though I made up that whole supsension thing. It seems to work. Oh yeah, and I nearly always refer to Shingo Kazamatsuri, Sage's opponent, by last name because this is Sage's point of view and Sage would only refer to him by his surname, accompanied with the honorific -san. But I've been trying to keep this all in English without throwing in Japanese terms (even though I could probably right this whole thing in Japanese... sigh) so there.

So, the whole premise for how Sage finds his armor, I didn't come up with... it's supposedly the official story...but I was going along with it, and it was all fine and dandy till this match... except for one minor detail that I had to smooth over... one pretty much always wears a face mask during a kendo match! It's made of wire/ mesh thing, and I got the impression looking at it that even if you threw sand at it, not much sand would get through it... in other words, the whole idea of sand being thrown into Sage's eyes by his opponent looks great till you look at the technical details of it. (Sighs). Nothing I couldn't handle, but it just bothered me, the implausibility of it.

So! Sage's is in hot water! How do you think it's going to be resolved? You'll have to wait (probably a week or so) to find out! Hope you enjoyed this (rather long) chapter! Later!


	10. Sage: Chapter 5

It Was Just A Dream

Sage- Chapter 5

by Hibana

Disclaimer: I don't own Ronin Warriors.

A.N. Sorry this took so long to get out; I've been very busy lately with school starting up again. It is also rather short; again, I apologize. I had certain events I wanted to occur and they worked best in the way I've done it, which means this chapter is short and the previous one was really long. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Sage's Grandfather waited patiently outside the room where Shingo Kazamatsuri was being revived. His face was a mask of tranquility, but any of his family would have noticed the rigidity of his stance and the lines in his weathered face and known the truth.

Grandfather was deeply upset, and couldn't help sending his ill will towards the disgraceful grandson of his, locked in the basement. _How could he_? He wondered of his grandson. _How dare he? After all the effort I spent on him? How could he disgrace us so?_

In past times such a disgrace might be fit for disownment, but times had changed, Grandfather reasoned. His actions would not be approved if he attempted to disown his grandson—and the only male heir to the family—as he might have been able to a hundred years before. And yet, some punishment was to be strongly desired in this case. He mused over what would be fitting for the amount of shame Seiji had brought.

He heard murmurs coming from the room, and the medic soon opened the door. He bowed to him, Kazamatsuri's master, and the chief judge who waited there.

"Honorable Masters, Kazamatsuri-san has regained consciousness. However, he appears to be slightly disoriented."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Kazamatsuri's master, and Grandfather murmured his own thanks as he and the other men entered the room.

Kazamatsuri sat up in the cot, propped up with pillows. He had white bandages wrapped around his forehead, and Grandfather's anger rose at the sight of him, injured so disgracefully by his grandson. It pained him to even think of Seiji as that, his anger was so great.

"Kazamatsuri-san, how do you feel?" inquired his teacher and the judge.

"What- what happened?" he asked, and Grandfather could see the confusion in his eyes. He stepped forward to do his duty and attempt to reclaim some of the honor that had been lost.

"Honorable Kazamatsuri, it pains me greatly to say that my grandson, Date Seiji, struck you most disgracefully in the head during your match, causing your current condition. My family and I apologize most sincerely for this dishonorable act by my grandson's hand. We will, of course, make some reparations for your pain."

The confused look did not leave Kazamatsuri's eyes. "But… but I don't understand. Why would he—?" He stopped. The young man sat quietly for a long moment, and then looked up to address those assembled there with a slight bow of his head.

"Honorable Masters, it is I who am ashamed, it is I who is disgraced. My honor would not stand me not to speak this truth. Before Date-san struck me, it was I who had lost my honor, for I, in the face of his skill and knowing that I was losing the match, threw sand in his eyes."

A very small gasp of shock came from the judge, and Kazamatsuri's master looked just as stunned. Grandfather eyed speculatively Kazamatsuri; the medic had claimed he was disoriented, but yet the man had a clear purpose in his eyes. But how could this be true?

"I did it intentionally, for I was afraid to lose, and it had become clear to me that Date-san had more skill than I. I know that my action is most disgraceful, and I accept the shame." He bowed as best he could while sitting in bed.

The three men turned to each other, but Kazamatsuri was not finished.

"Yet one matter remains unclear to me. Date-san paused after I acted most dishonorably, and I could see that he knew this…he knew if he spoke, I would be disqualified. So why did he not call the match? He had won, but yet… why did he strike me?"

The young man clearly did not know the answer, and as Grandfather mused on the question, neither did he. The chief judge spoke briefly with Kazamatsuri's master, and then announced he would discuss this new information with the other judges to decide a ruling.

The masters bowed to him and Grandfather left Kazamatsuri and his master to discuss this event, thinking deeply.

In light of this revelation Grandfather had much to think on. His grandson would surely have realized that Kazamatsuri's action would make him disqualified, so why did he not announce his opponent's act? He had struck him instead… not only that, he had done so seemingly with anger… Yet Grandfather knew that, despite his grandson's many failings, uncontrolled anger was not one of them. So that must have been an act… but why? Why would his grandson have chosen this path?

His feet led him to the basement, and he drew the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. It swung open to reveal his grandson, who sat on the floor meditating. He did not speak, though he had surely heard his arrival, and Grandfather took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Kazamatsuri has confessed," he began simply.

His grandson reacted slightly, lifting his head slightly out of surprise to the news.

"He told the judges and I that he disgracefully threw sand in your eyes when he felt he was losing the match," he stated quietly, taking a step forward into the room. "However… he does not understand… as I do not… why you did not simply call the match but instead struck him down?"

His grandson did not answer for a long moment, and he waited patiently, knowing that Seiji was preparing to speak.

"A victory… because of an opponent's shame… is not a true victory. A better one would be if both opponents acted and one lost with honor. A victory, not because of my own skill but my opponent's shame, would not have been worthy."

Grandfather acknowledged this with a movement of his head, realizing that his grandson had gained some understanding in this event. Yet…

"Why did you strike him?" he asked quietly.

Seiji shifted his head, searching for words to express his sentiment. "Because I decided that I could not take advantage of his shame to better myself, and because I understood the motivation behind Kazamatsuri's actions... therefore...it was... the honorable thing to do," he finished carefully.

Grandfather, as he thought about it, decided he had nothing to say to that. He realized that his grandson had acted as his honor had deemed necessary, even though that action had led to dishonor for himself, something which he did not fully understand. Yet he was aware that Seiji had acted on his own principles... and that he could, and did, respect.

"Come along..." he said. "The judges will announce a ruling on the match."

His grandson said nothing and rose to his feet to turn and follow his grandfather back to the dojo court, falling a step behind him.

Grandfather watched him out of the corner of his eye. He noticed that there was something different about Seiji… not only his speech, but something else... something seemed to have changed in his grandson in the short time he had left him, though he failed to identify it. He looked away.

He led Sage down the hall towards the judges to hear their decision on the match, and therefore missed the rare smile on the young man's face as he tightened his hand around a small green orb.

* * *

So! End of Sage's chapters (though rest assured, we will see him later). A note I want to make, however...

First, I want to note that Grandfather is not a bad or mean person. He is a product of his times (an older Japan, I guess you could say, as I tried to show) and is very conservative. At his heart he does want the best for Sage, but because of who he is, he cannot express it in a way we would view as loving (though he clearly does love his grandson as he seeks to understand his actions).

Secondly, I was thinking to myself, wouldn't someone wonder about Sage's actions? I mean, striking Shingo was not his only option at the time. As I see it, he could have 1 called the match, 2. done something to distract from or equal Shingo's shame, or 3. kept on going in the match without telling anyone and with his handicap. The problem I came up with when I thought about option 3 is... someone would have obviously noticed if Sage walked around with his eye squeezed shut in apparent pain. So did Sage have to strike Shingo and knock him out? The way I see it, he had to do something drastic to hide Shingo's action. Did he mean to knock him out? No. A second thought on this situation... no one saw Shingo do it, right? So why did Sage have to do something? Eh, I don't have a great answer to that. That was one of the problems I had with the whole situation... how some of the little details don't make sense. But hey, this is anime, this is fanfiction! It doesn't have to make total sense (though it'd be nice...)

Thirdly, I know there has been a lot of discussion (or maybe not, but whatever) about the difference between Sage's english virtue wisdom and the japanese virture of _rei_, which translates into courtesy. Some of us who view the english dub (and myself, at first, included) could not understand this difference. However, the more I mused on this, the more I came to understand that these, in fact, are extremely related. Here is an explanation that I found that illustrates this point for me.

1. **Rei**: right action--a most essential quality, courtesy.

This definition of _rei_ was found in a text on Bushido, which for those of you who don't know, is the way of the samurai, ie the samurai's code. For the samurai courtesy meant right action-- which meant treating those you met with respect and honor and acting honorably in your every action; therefore, acting in a good way. But an essential aspect of this is _knowing _when and how to act in different ways. This common saying/prayer always helps me to define wisdom:

"Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

This, I think, expresses the relation between _rei_ and wisdom. _Rei_ really is a sort of wisdom... the wisdom to know how to act, when to accept or when to fight for change, etc.

This is what I really wanted to reveal through Sage's story-- my theory, so to speak, about each of their discovery of their armors is that to discover their armors they first had to discover something about themselves-- for Rowen is was his motivation in life, for Sage it was this wisdom and understanding-- these characteristics that are the virtures of their armor but also of _them_. I base this whole theory on the episode when Kento could not use his armor for he had lost touch with what it meant to be just and why it mattered. He had had a crisis of faith within himself, and therefore could not use the armor-- because they are so fundamentally connected. And that's what makes the Ronin Warriors special for me, because it draws attention to this inner nature and how if one follows it, one can accomplish anything (even save the world and take down bad guys). I sort of see their armor as a magical representation of their inner being, or soul, if you will... when they follow their hearts, they are strong.

Oi... sorry about the rant. I'm getting off the soapbox now. And I acknowledge the fact that I have thought way too deeply into this... I just couldn't help but examine it!

Next up... a brief interlude from the order of things to check in on Rowen!

Oh, and thanks always to Hellfire, Dranza, and Twilight Kunoichi for reviewing! And to the new people who favorite-d me or my story!


	11. Rowen: Interim Chapter

It was Just A Dream

A Ronin Warriors Fanfiction

By Hibana

Rowen-Interim Chapter (A.K.A. Let's check in and see what he's up to! Chapter)

Disclaimer: I don't own the Ronin Warriors.

A.N. It's an update! OMG, like, the world must be exploding, Hibana has updated. I know, I know, I'm really sorry it's been so long. You know, the usual, I've been busy, writer's block, yada yada...Anyway, I'm back, here's a chapter about Rowen and then Cye is next! His 1st chap is done, just needs one more read-through, so I should be putting it up soon. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Kawamura Shojo was not by character an easily surprised person. He was told and prided himself on the fact that he was very steady. Captain of a well-organized and frequented club at school, senior, solid B+ GPA that rarely varied, steady girlfriend… he was as calm, cool, and collected that years of archery and self-focus could make.

But yet he was completely caught off guard when the registered genius and prize student of the school and district, Rowen Hashiba, came up to him out of the blue and asked to join the Archery Club.

He had just stared at him for a moment before remembering himself to respond- but not remembering himself to stop his rude question of "Why?"

The other boy had smiled a little, a bit knowingly, and replied he wanted to start a new hobby and to keep himself fit. Well, those were perfectly good reasons for joining, but Kawamura was still astounded.

He guessed geniuses could do something else with their time besides study… just what, he couldn't imagine. Nor could he imagine why this particular one decided suddenly to do archery. Sure, it was probably breaking the social order a bit, but Kawamura didn't see anything wrong with letting him join as he replied in the affirmative and told him when the meeting time was. If Hashiba was really interested in archery, then he would welcome another devotee. If he wasn't, well… he'd wash out like the rest of them, complaining of calluses, muscle pains, and frustration.

Hashiba thanked him and departed, and Kawamura suddenly had no doubt that he would be there after school for practice.

Sure enough, as Kawamura had predicted, the genius boy was there, waiting patiently by the designated area. Typical for him, or for what Kawamura had heard about him, his nose was stuck in a book and he seemed oblivious to anything else around him, even the curious glances at him from other members of the club.

Funny, though… he didn't see anyone else standing near or with him. Most of the people who joined did so with someone else, with a friend who they could laugh with or complain about their finger cramps. But then again Hashiba had always seemed kind of a loner… Kawamura couldn't remember seeing him with a friend ever, though no one was unkind to him. He was just sort of… distant.

Brushing away his thoughts, he began the club's activities for the day. Telling some of his more senior members to get things started, he supervised as they got the junior members to bring out the racks with the bows and crates of the arrows, while some others rolled the large targets to their positions. As soon as the activity started Hashiba pulled himself out of his book and walked over to help; they looked to Kawamura and he nodded that it was okay, and the seniors quickly enlisted Hashiba in helping to set up.

Once all had been set up did Kawamura call out, "Equipment Check!" The club members began to check their own bows. Kawamura draw Hashiba to the side. "I am the Range Captian today," he said, "And therefore I will be leading all activities. There are several rules that must be followed for safety." He nodded. "Before each club activity we check our equipment to ensure that there is no faults that might cause damage to ourselves and others. This includes the bow and the arrows." He took Hashiba's bow from him and pointed out what to look for. "These are some spots where faults commonly occur, but one must be thorough." He returned it and turned next to his arrows. "Each arrow must be checked for faults." He checked each himself, frowned when he found one that was cracked, and snapped it in half. "This is done to prevent any from firing a faulty arrow."

"Now, after our equipment check is done, we assign firing posts and take turns if there are not enough spaces for everyone. As Range Captain I dictate when to shoot, when to stop, and when to receive arrows. Failure to immediately obey my commands will result in suspension from the rest of the day's activities; repeated failure results in expulsion. We take safety very seriously in our club," he said. "Do not fire until you receive the command, stop when you receive the command to stop, and do not retrieve arrows until you hear the word clear, understood?" Again Hashiba nodded.

"Now, there are several rules for firing. One must not fire or aim a bow at another person, fire into the air, or fire into a distance in which one cannot see where your arrow will land. One must also not draw the string back without an arrow, or release the drawed-string without an arrow. This is-"

"Dry-firing," supplied Hashiba, and Kawamura blinked. From the patient look on Hashiba's face he suddenly got the impression that Hashiba had researched all of this before, though it was difficult to tell from his careful expression.

"Correct," he said after a moment, and handed Hashiba a bow and a bundle of arrows. "This one is already strung for you, but if you commit to the club we will teach you how to string it yourself."

He led the blue-haired boy to the archery range and assigned him a spot in the line. There were many members there today so each line was at least three people thick. Seeing that everything was in order, he confirmed that the safety cheeks had been done by his senior members and began today's practice. Soon there were arrows flying through the air, and Kawamura saw that Hashiba paid close attention to the people shooting ahead of him, undoubtedly trying to see how to do it for himself.

When it was his turn in line Kawamura made his way over to the genius. Perhaps it was curiosity at the unexpected joining or perhaps just interest in a new member but he wanted to make sure that Hashiba got whatever it was that he wanted out of this—for it was evident that Hashiba clearly had a desire to achieve this. It was evident by the way his face became determined and he carefully imitated the actions he had seen other archers do.

As he sighted the target Kawamura briefly wondered if his genius would appear in his archery as well.

But it appeared not to be as the arrow missed the target by a meter and fell far short.

Well, one couldn't be good at everything, thought Kawamura, a bit smug suddenly that though Hashiba was far smarter than him he was better than the genius in at least one thing. And instantly reproached himself for the rude thought.

"Steady your arm. Each motion should be smooth. Sight your target, draw back, and fire," he advised.

Hashiba tried again, and it was a better shot, but still not even near the target.

"Guide with your left hand, but don't let it pull your aim to the left," advised Kawamura this time.

He fired again, and while it was better, it was still to the left of the target.

"Adjust," said Kawamura, and then was called away, leaving Hashiba to figure it out for himself.

He kept his eye on him, though, for the duration of the practice. Hashiba was obviously intent on learning archery and yet clearly a bit frustrated that it did not come to him so easily. His shots became better with each turn, evidence of his observation and concentration, even hitting the target at times, but nothing near the elusive bulls-eye. Kawamura saw him notice the calluses on his fingers from drawing the boy, rubbing them a bit, but say nothing, not to complain or whine as so many of the other junior members did to his annoyance.

Practice ended, and Hashiba assisted the others in cleaning up the range. Again Kawamura made his way over to him.

"Did you enjoy practice?" he asked politely.

Hashiba made a face, half-smiling, as if to say how could he enjoy what he had not succeeded at yet, and replied. "In a way… when is the next practice?"

Kawamura told him with no doubt that Hashiba would be there next time.

---

The blue-haired boy was there, to the surprise of many of the other club members, who had been curious and skeptical about him. Kawamura shushed them and made it a point to be nearby when it was Hashiba's turn to shoot, and was astonished when his first shot was inches away from the bulls-eye. The second was the same distance but to the right, the result of over compensating. Still, not bad shots at all.

"That's quite an improvement," he said to Hashiba, who was smiling just a bit.

"I calculated the force needed to fire the arrow the 50 meters and the different trajectories based on my height and the bow," he replied, carefully taking aim again. He fired, and again the arrow was in the target. He glanced over and saw the expression on Kawamura's face.

"I enjoy physics," he offered as an explanation.

Kawamura blinked and said nothing, but he wondered at the nature of a person who enjoyed physics, but decided it evidently helped Hashiba to understand archery better, and shrugged as he walked away.

---

It seemed Hashiba was a genius after all, thought Kawamura to himself some practices later. He had rapidly improved his skills, shooting better and at farther targets till he was shooting with the more experienced senior members, sometimes even out-shooting them. His determination to master archery impressed Kawamura, even as he realized with a sigh that at this rate Hashiba might outshoot even him someday.

As he was showing him more advanced techniques and watching Hashiba master them quickly, he decided to ask, "So, what made you really join the archery club?"

Rowen Hashiba stopped and looked at him, and then began to smile. "It was just a dream I had," he said, and fired another bulls-eye.

* * *

Yaaa for Rowen! I knew I had to do an archery chapter with him. I dabble in archery and my brother does it in a club and my aunt teaches it, so I had all these resources at my hand and I tried to represent it pretty well. If there's any mistakes, please feel free to correct me! And I bet you guys didn't know reading my stuff would be getting an education, eh? First kendo, then archery...lol, I wonder what's next. It'll probably be rip-tides and the dangers of cliff-diving, lol. (Yes, that's a mini-teaser for the Cye chapters). I could have gone longer with this chapter, but this got pretty long without my noticing, so I just cut myself off. And yes, there is an OC, my random Kawamura guy. He is there for the sole purpose of being an outside observer of Rowen. I just wanted to show how Rowen looks from an outsider's perspective. Errm, let's see, what else... Oh yeah! This is the part where i beg for reviews! As much as i love seeing the pretty little charts of how many people read my stories, i love reviews even more! It can be just one word or two, it takes twenty seconds, come on people, throw me a line here, ya? I mean, I'd understand if you might be annoyed at me taking so long to write, but don't punish me by witholding feed-back!

Okay, I've been pathetic enough. Anyway, Aqua-lad, aka Cye, is next! By the end of this week, I promise!


	12. Cye: Chapter 1

It Was Just a Dream

A Ronin Warriors Fanfiction

Cye- Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Ronin Warriors

A.N. Here it is at last! I hope all you (rabid) Cye fans are pleased! It was really hard for me to write Cye, and it took me up till a month ago to really get a feel for him and how I wanted to write his story. I hope you enjoy this first installment! Lol, his big chapter might even be more exciting than Sage's kendo match, though it starts out quietly. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Cye looked out the window at the rain. The skies were gray and overcast and the sound of the rain falling was all he could hear. It was rhythmic and soothing and he felt his worries wash away with the rain.

His mother coughed from the living room, drawing Cye out of his thoughts, and he turned back to her.

"Mother, are you all right?" he asked, coming to sit next to her.

She coughed again, the cough seeming to go right through her frail body. "Perhaps some water…" she whispered.

He hurried back into the kitchen to get a glass. He returned to his mother and she took it with thanks. He watched her as she drank, his worries returning. She was so frail, so fragile… her health had not been well these last years, and it had taken a turn for the worse as of late. The doctors could not find anything specifically wrong with her; they only prescribed rest and advised against anything that might damage her frail condition.

Looking at her, seeing how frail, made him fear that the rain might just wash her away.

She sat down the glass and saw the concern on his face and smiled her soft smile. "Do not worry, Cye, I'm all right."

"Your cough is getting worse, mother…" he quietly and respectfully protested.

"It will pass," she said simply.

Sayoko, his older sister, hurried into the room from her own, straightening her hair. "I'm off to the shop. I have to make a few more of those pieces for the set that Yamanoko-san ordered." She scurried around the door, gathering her purse and shoes and wallet.

"If you rush so much, dear, the pottery will show it," advised his mother, and Sayoko's look was ambivalent.

"I know, Mother," she said at last. "But I have to get the set done on time or Yamanoko-san won't give us a good recommendation, which will mean we'll get less customers than we already do, and then the business…" she drifted off, not wanting to worry her mother more, her own young face marked with worry lines.

"You are too young to worry so much. Please, Sayoko-chan, make time for yourself today," replied his mother.

Sayoko's look revealed that she felt she had no time for such things, but she didn't press the matter.

"Cye, do you know where the umbrella is?"

"Sure, it's right by the door," he said, rising and showing it. She made a face at having overlooked its obvious location, and turned to Cye.

"Take care of mother."

"I will," he replied.

They repeated this phrase every time one of them left the house, and Sayoko made an apologetic face as she stepped out into the rain, opening up her umbrella.

Cye closed the door behind her and returned to his mother, who was looking out after his sister.

"Too young," she murmured to herself, and then turned to him with a sad smile. "You too are too young to be so old." Her smile widened. "My wise old man." She smoothed his hair and sighed. "I worry about you two."

"Mother, there's nothing to worry about. We're doing fine. You just need to think about yourself and your health."

"That is what you both always say. I am fine, we are okay," she shook her head. "But I know how you worry after me…you never think of yourselves, only me, and while it brings me happiness to know my children love me so, I worry…" She drifted away, and then turned back to him. "When was the last time you went out with your friends? Or went somewhere that was not the grocery store, or the market? When was the last time you did something for yourself, Cye?" She took his hands in hers. "I want you to do something for yourself," she told him, her steady eyes on him. Her eyes crinkled in mirth. "You always flow so easily, dear, going wherever you need to, doing whatever is asked of you. But I wish for you to direct your own current. It's… a mother's wish."

He could only look at her for a moment, absorbing her words, before she turned away to cough. Instantly he was concerned, but yet her words resonated in him. They were so alike his dream…

He passed his mother her cup of water and she drank deeply, her hand to her chest.

"Thank you dear," she said, and Cye took the empty glass back to the kitchen to refill it. But as he turned on the faucet he was lost in thought, watching the water flow out into the sink and down the drain.

"Cye? I believe I should rest for a while," came his mother's voice above his thoughts, and he hurriedly filled up the glass and went back to her, helping her to her room and making sure she was comfortable.

Then he returned to the living room, paused for a moment while staring out the window at the rain, and then made up his mind.

His mother's words were the key. Friends? Well, sure, he had friends…classmates, rather… acquaintances, he admitted. It wasn't as if he didn't know others, and he was well-liked in school, but… well…there was no one he was close to or could really talk with.

And going somewhere that wasn't of necessity was difficult at best. With his schoolwork and Sayoko's management of the family business, and the requirement that one of them be there to look after their mother in case she needed them, made the grocery or market his only outings.

This was his life, wasn't it? He didn't begrudge it; he loved his mother dearly and was willing to do anything the family needed in order to take care of his family. He kept the house in order, always made sure there was food on the table, took his mother to the doctor… with Sayoko running the business, she didn't have any time to do the household labor, and he didn't mind it.

But this was it…He made up his mind.

He went into the basement and found the old family archives, all the letters and documents of his ancestors that had been carefully preserved, and brought them upstairs. He had heard in a dream that his family's past was the key to his future…

It was his mother's words that had made him decide to follow through. He had not known what to think when he began to have those dreams, but now… Now, he thought as he pulled the lid off of one of the boxes, he wanted what the Ancient One and his mother had spoke of.

He had decided that he wanted something for himself.

* * *

Well, minna-san? What do you all think? Let me know, I need the feedback! My comments are:

- I really like Cye's mother. You can really tell that she's a huge influence in his life, and I really liked the idea of she being the reason that he chose to find his armor.

-And his armor! We started right in the middle of things, yes? I like to start in a different place for each of them. He's already had those, but don't worry, we'll be seeing the Ancient One.

-And i know this is shorter than the last chapter, but they can't all be run-ons like Rowen's was!

Other notes… I think I sent almost everyone a response if you left me a review. All but Shinigami-chan, who was anon. Thank you for your super nice comments! I'm so glad you loved it! It really makes me happy to see that people really enjoy what I'm writing. And to everyone else who read, i hope you enjoyed! and stand up to be heard!  
See everyone next chapter!


	13. Cye: Chapter 2

It was just a dream

By Hibana

A Ronin Warriors Fanfiction

Disclaimer: I don't own the Ronin Warriors.

A.N.-- whoa, it's been way longer than I meant it to be. Sorry guys (if I still have any faithful readers left!). Good thing this one was almost finished anyway...

As usual, read and enjoy!

* * *

Cye sat on a stool, staring at the lump of clay he was supposed to transform into a beautiful and elegant vase. Behind him he heard his mother give advice to his sister.

"Relax, dear. Release the tension in your shoulders and your hands will be steadier."

"I know, Mother," he heard his sister reply. Then she sighed and Cye could see her do as their mother instructed.

He took his mother's advice to and tried to relax. There was so much on his mind that he didn't know where to begin with sorting it, and it wouldn't do to begin until he had cleared his mind and could focus on the clay. He tried to do so but sighed, his thoughts tangled, and began anyway, pressing his foot on the pedal so that the soothing sound of the spinning wheel began.

First and foremost, as usual, was concern for his mother. She had been determined to come into the shop today, despite his and Sayoko's protests. She had insisted, though, saying it would help her to do something productive and it was her own shop and what kind of mother let her children run it? She insisted that it was relaxing and promised that she wouldn't let it tax her strength. Cye had seen no other option but to bring her, and while he was here he had decided to make some general pieces for the shop itself, since Sayoko had been so busy with the special orders lately. He glanced over at his mother, and saw the warm smile on her face as she watched Sayoko work, and realized it was helping her to be in her shop, surrounded by what she loved to do, and let that worry go.

His second concern was his own little project, which had not been going well at all. He sighed heavily, his hands slick from the clay as he guided it into the shape he wanted. It was very frustrating, trying to read some four hundred years of illegible text. Educational when he could make it out, but on the whole frustrating. He didn't want to know about the rice yield of his clan's farms in 1741! He wanted to know about the armor…

Once again he sighed, and let his thoughts drift, the sound and the work soothing, and he focused on the spinning clay until his another thought emerged.

The armor. The one that the Ancient spoke of in his dream. At times like this he doubted himself and wondered why he was even looking for it. How could it be real? How could his dreams be real? Yet he could not dismiss them, and the notion had guided him like a boat in a strong current, causing him to return to the old texts every time after he had given up in frustration.

Frustration…he barely even knew what he was looking for. It was all so cryptic…_he_ was so cryptic, the Ancient One. He hadn't come to any of Cye's dreams in some time, since the initial few that had started Cye on this quest. He had only told him about the legend of the armor and that the secret lay in his family's history. Which was helpful, but not when faced with all the documents of the clan's history. He felt his frustration build, but then let them go, exhaling softly. He had made up his mind to look for this armor, and so he would continue to look for it. Did he really want to give up on it? He asked himself again, and decided once again that he did not. If it wasn't real, well, he had wasted his time. If it was…

The clay rose higher, slowly taking shape.

What would happen when he found the armor, if he ever did? It seemed rather silly to think of that, especially when he wasn't sure if he ever would find it, but now that it had come up he had to consider it. Why did the Ancient want him to find the armor? What purpose would it serve? The Ancient One had said that the armor had come from a battle with a demon…he wasn't supposed to fight demons in the armor, was he? He certainly couldn't fight. The idea seemed rather silly. He, in armor, fighting demons? He wouldn't know what to do with a weapon, to start, and he certainly wasn't strong enough to fight…and he really didn't believe in it, either, he mused. Violence could almost always be avoided if people were willing to compromise. Well, maybe there was another purpose for the armor, Cye tried to tell himself. Or maybe he should just stop now before he got himself into something he couldn't handle.

But what if the Ancient One had come to him because he was the only one who could, somehow? He wasn't sure how that could be. Surely there was someone better.

But the fact of the matter was that the Ancient had come to him and told him, not anyone else (as far as he knew). He said it had been his destiny, his very own. Somehow that was encouraging and frightening at the same time. He wanted to know and yet not really know, if it meant what he suspected.

But the Ancient had seen something in him. He had told him to find this armor, that it was for him… and while Cye had only known the mysterious figure for a short time, he somehow felt he could trust him. Trust what he said. Trust his faith that he, Cye, could do this.

His mother had faith in him too…even if she didn't know exactly what he was doing or why, she had faith in him…she trusted him. That thought warmed him.

So, yes, he still could not find that armor, and he was still unsure about its purpose or what he was supposed to do with it, but they had faith in him…

He'd just have to trust them, and have some faith in himself…

"That's beautiful, Cye," came a warm voice near him, and he nearly jumped with shock. His mother steadied him and he quickly stopped the wheel so that the his work would not be damaged.

"You were in a daze," murmured his mother to him. "While you were making it."

Cye took a long look at what he had made. It wasn't bad at all; the proportions were right and the neck was rather elegant…But there were odd, irregular grooves along it, followed by eerily smooth bars, so smooth one would think they had been sanded to perfection. It gave it a rather unique look.

"Well, it is unique," he said to his mother, who shook her head.

"No, no, I like it! Look at the design in it… I suppose you didn't intend it, then?" she asked with a knowing smile. When he shook his head, she went on. "It looks deliberate, Cye, and it gives it a beautiful quality to it." A smile entered her eyes and her lips crinkled upwards. "You were thinking so deeply while you made this… and I can tell exactly what you were thinking."

"Really?" he asked.

"Indeed. See this first rough part right here?" She pointed to it. "You were troubled by what you were thinking about. But here," she pointed to the smooth band. "Here you figured it out, at least for a moment, and your mind was at ease. This next rough bar is where you began to doubt yourself, dear, though it is not as wide as the first, so not as much. But again you worked it out. And the pattern continues till you reach this part of the neck," she pointed to the beautifully smooth section. "When you at last came to peace with yourself."

Cye stared at his mother for a long moment in disbelief. Could it be true? He reflected on it and realized it could be. He stared at the smooth part at the top of the vase.

Sayoko came over to see. "Huh, that is different, Cye. Let's get it to the kiln to fire it. With a little paint it'll be nice."

"Actually, I want it just the way it is," said his mother. "I am going to keep it."

"Okay, Mother," said Sayoko with raised eyebrows, taking it anyway to the kiln.

He watched her sister take it away, and then looked at his mother who was smiling. And the question slipped right out of him.

"Mother, do you remember any legends about the family?"

"Legends?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, and flushed a bit. "I, uh, have been doing some research through our family's history, and I was wondering about legends."

"What kind of legends?" she asked.

"More like myths, with, uh, magic or impossible things in them," he said, afraid to mention the armor.

"Well, now that you mention it, I do remember one story… your father told it to me," she said, and a sad sort of smile appeared on her face. "He told me that all the young men in the family had to pass a rite of manhood or some such thing… each young man, when he became of age and if he was able, was required to dive off of a certain cliff into the sea in order to become a man in the eyes of the clan. Right about your age, in fact."

He blinked with surprise, for he had thought he had heard all of Dad's stories before. "Really?"

"Yes," she said.

"Did Dad do it?" he asked.

Her eyes smiled. "He did indeed. Oh, you should have heard me scold him about it when he told me the story, even though it had been years since he'd done it. Oh…" she gave a little sigh.

"Do you miss him?" The question fell out of him again.

"Very much," sighed his mother, and turned to give him a sad smile. "But he died doing what he loved, and I suppose there is no better way to die. Though I was so sad to see him go…"

The look on her face made Cye reach up and hug her, carefully, so that his clay-covered hands did not touch her clothes.

"Thank you, Cye," she said.

"I miss him too," he replied, and after a long moment sat back down.

There was a comfortable silence between them until Cye thought of something.

"Mother? Why were the young men supposed to dive off the cliff?"

"Oh, I'm sure it was to prove their courage, but that's not the reason you reminded me of it. There was some legend that the one of the clan ancestors had hidden a magic item at the bottom…what was it…" she frowned, trying to remember. "It didn't make sense… ah, that's right. There was supposedly an old armor at the bottom of the sea there, but heaven only knows if it really is," she gave a laugh.

Cye, though, felt as if his head was spinning as fast as the pottery wheel had been. "Yes, ha ha, that is strange…" He turned back to his own wheel, afraid the expression on his face would show it. "Which cliff was it?" he asked, careful to keep his voice light.

"The one right behind our house, dear," she said, getting clay to start her own project. "The one your father proposed to me at."

His heart was racing and he sought to steady his hands in case she noticed.

"Well, that does it," said his sister, walking in. "It's begun." She looked around. "Cye, you'd better hurry up!"

For a moment Cye froze again, thinking she was talking of something else entirely, but then she continued, "Since Mother wants that one, you better hurry up and make another one! Though maybe not so rough," she added in an aside.

At the other wheel, his mother was preparing to start. After adjusting her apron she looked his way. Mirth entered her eyes. "Don't let your excitement rush this one," she advised, smiling.

Cye smiled too, but kept his excitement at bay as the wheel began to spin again.

* * *

So....what did you all think? I live off of the comments you guys give me!

Oh, and I know Cye is doing a whole lot of thinking this chapter, but he's always been sort of a thinker, ne?

And I love his mother. She's awesome. And did you guys catch the whole, "cye hurry up thing?" as in, Cye, hurry up already and go get the armor! Ha ha ha, i crack myself up sometimes...

ANYway... give me feedback! Later!


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